


just fun

by ninepointeight



Category: Men's Basketball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Banter, Basketball, Blow Jobs, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninepointeight/pseuds/ninepointeight
Summary: Kyrie shifts. “Why do all the other omegas in the league hate us?” He asks.That seems to finally capture Stephen’s attention. He straightens up and turns his head to blink at Kyrie. “I– what?” He says.“The other omegas,” Kyrie repeats, troubled. “They hate us.”
Relationships: Joel Embiid/Jimmy Butler, Kevin Durant/Russell Westbrook, Kyrie Irving/LeBron James, Paul George/Kyrie Irving, Stephen Curry/Klay Thompson, i'll add tags as i go along - Relationship
Comments: 120
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm kinda just combining all these self-indulgent scenarios into one fic...? idek what i'm doing honestly. also this is my first multi-chaptered fic (!) so go easy on me

“Steph?” Kyrie says. They’re sprawled out next to each other on Stephen’s couch, _Tangled_ playing on the TV screen, but Kyrie isn’t really paying attention.

“Yeah?” Stephen replies, eyes still glued to the movie and one hand reaching absentmindedly for popcorn. 

Kyrie shifts. “Why do all the other omegas in the league hate us?” He asks. 

That seems to finally capture Stephen’s attention. He straightens up and turns his head to blink at Kyrie. “I– what?” He says. 

“The other omegas,” Kyrie repeats, troubled. “They hate us.” 

Stephen considers this; “Kyle doesn’t hate us,” he says.

Kyrie bobs his head, “okay, but he’s Kyle, he’s an angel. Name _one_ other omega who doesn’t hate our guts.” 

Stephen scratches his head, and breathes out in defeat after a few moments. “Okay, I got nothing,” he admits. Kyrie throws out his hands as if to say _‘see?’_ Stephen frowns thoughtfully, “I never really paid much attention to it before, but you’re right. Is it because all our friends are alphas?” 

Kyrie huffs out a breath. “No, it’s the other way around,” he points out, “all our friends are alphas _because_ other omegas hate us.”

“That’s true, dammit,” Stephen agrees, and they promptly fall into a pensive sort of silence. 

It’s only broken by the sound of the front door opening. Klay and Kevin walk in holding plastic bags from the convenience store nearby, finally back from their beer run. Klay looks between Kyrie and Stephen curiously. 

“Why do you two look so…contemplative?” He asks, setting a bag down on the table, and Kyrie immediately leans forward to snag a bottle. 

“We were just trying to figure out,” Kyrie explains, cracking the lid of his beer open, “why all the other omegas in the league seem to hate us.” 

Klay and Kevin both look slightly surprised as they drop down onto the couch. “Well,” Kevin says, “that isn’t difficult to figure out. They’re jealous.” 

Kyrie tilts his head at Kevin, confused. Jealous? “What, why?” 

Kevin leans back comfortably and throws one long arm over the back of the couch. He snorts, “probably ‘cause 90% of the alphas in the league want to fuck you guys.” 

Kyrie’s right eye twitches at that, and Stephen echoes his incredulity. “What? They can’t be that shallow.” They both look towards Klay in unison, imploring him to disagree with Kevin, but Klay gulps and looks back at them guiltily. 

“I– sorry,” he winces, “I’m pretty sure that’s the reason.” 

“Plus,” Kevin adds, “it doesn’t help that both of you are shameless flirts.”

Kyrie splutters. “That’s ridiculous,” he says, “I mean, Steph can be like that sometimes,” (“hey!” Stephen says in the background, offended, and Kyrie ignores him) “but _I_ keep it perfectly friendly and innocent.” 

Kevin actually barks out a laugh at that. “Seriously? Do you know how many alphas I’ve seen become convinced that you’re their soulmate after you flirted with them for, like, three seconds?” 

“Pfft,” Kyrie crosses his arms, “how is that _my_ fault?”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “It’s not,” he says, cuffing Kyrie gently on the back of the head. “I’m just saying. You and Steph are equally as bad when it comes to leading guys on.”

“Hey, I resent that comparison,” Stephen protests. “When I flirt I’m actually looking for a relationship, or whatever. On the other hand, Kyrie flirts with everyone even though he’s already, ahem, _emotionally unavailable._ ”

Kyrie throws a pillow at Stephen’s head, who dodges expertly. “What the hell do you mean that I’m ‘emotionally unavailable’?” 

“Come on, you _know_ what I mean,” Stephen gives him an unimpressed look, “you’re already in love with Lebron!”

Kyrie feels his face grow hot, “okay, now, ‘love’ is an extremely strong word–”

“Oh, save it,” Stephen cuts him off, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “This is a judgement free zone. You don’t have to lie to us.” 

Kyrie glares at him but doesn’t say anything, sinking further into the couch cushions. Okay, fine, so he might be a tiny bit in love with Lebron, but he’s not about to give Stephen the satisfaction of hearing him say it out loud. 

“Right,” Kevin says, “on that note. Steph, guess who kept asking me for your number after the game earlier?” 

Stephen leans forward in interest, but Kyrie doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit briefly to Klay, as if to gauge his reaction. “Who?” 

“Gordon Hayward.” 

“What?” Stephen blinks. He turns to Kyrie, “I thought you guys were hooking up or something.”

Kyrie waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, it’s not exclusive. Feel free to hit him up.” He pauses, and then adds, “he has a pretty big dick, too.” 

Stephen’s eyebrows jump, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, licking his lips, “duly noted.” 

Kevin is looking at both of them dryly. “See? Shameless.” 

Kyrie and Stephen make a face at him at the same time. “Yeah, whatever,” Stephen says, and Kyrie’s eyes wander to the one member of their little group who has stayed conspicuously silent this whole time and is staring at the TV screen. 

“Klay, man,” Kyrie says, “how come you never talk?”

“Dude, shhh, Rapunzel and Flynn Rider are about to kiss!” Klay replies.


	2. Chapter 2

All-Star Week happens a couple days later in Los Angeles, but Kyrie still finds himself occasionally thinking about his conversation with Kevin and Stephen (and Klay, technically). 

He turns to Jimmy as they’re both lacing up their sneakers in the locker room. “Do you think I flirt a lot?” He asks, troubled. 

Jimmy looks startled by the seemingly random question, but to his credit thinks about it. “Well,” he says sheepishly after a moment, “kind of.”

Stephen, who is sitting nearby, overhears them and snorts. “Kind of? That’s an understatement. Ky is a whole thot.” 

Kyrie stops tying his shoelaces to sneer at Stephen. “Wow,” he says, “that means a lot coming from the Thot King himself.” 

“Hey,” Stephen wags a finger at him, “watch your mouth, young man! That’s no way to speak to your senior.”

“Oh, don’t pull the age card on me now!”

“And so what if I do, punk? Hasn’t anybody told you to respect your elders–”

Jimmy is looking between them, equal parts confused and panicked, as the argument escalates. Apparently it gets loud enough that Lebron walks over to their area of the locker room, “what’s going on here?” 

Kyrie and Stephen both immediately stop talking and look up at Lebron; the strongest alpha in the room is addressing them, after all, they _have_ to. Kyrie chuckles awkwardly, “just some friendly omega banter,” he says. At the exact same time, Stephen blurts out “Kyrie called me the Thot King!” 

Kyrie quickly whips his head around to glare at Stephen, who sticks his tongue out at him childishly. Kyrie crosses his arms, “come on,” he says, “if anything, I meant it as a compliment!” 

Stephen’s eye twitches. “Yeah? Then you won’t mind if I call you a total slut.” 

“Hey!” Kyrie frowns, “I thought we agreed that slut-shaming is off limits.”

“Oh shit, right,” Stephen says, remembering the pact they had made two years ago when they first became friends. “Sorry,” he says sincerely, “I didn’t mean that.” 

Kyrie reaches out to put his hand on Stephen’s knee. “It’s okay, Steph. I forgive you.” 

Stephen layers his hand on top of Kyrie’s, sending him a touched smile. “No, it was t0tally my bad,” he replies. “I shouldn’t have called you a slut.” 

Meanwhile, Lebron crosses his arms, looking mildly amused. “Man,” he says, “I will never understand your guys’ friendship.” 

Kyrie turns his head and smiles sweetly up at Lebron. “It’s called being able to banter freely because of our strong, unwavering mutual respect for one another,” he says. 

Lebron tilts his head disbelievingly, “I feel like all you guys do is call each other mean names?”

Stephen clicks his tongue. “We also make out sometimes,” he remarks blandly. 

It’s almost comical, at the words, how quickly every single alpha’s head immediately turns in their direction. Kyrie snorts quietly and elbows Stephen, giving him a look like ‘do you see what you’ve done now?’ Lebron is also staring at them with wide eyes, and Kyrie swears he sees Lebron swallow heavily before asking– 

“You guys _what?_ ” 

Stephen, faced with more than fifteen pairs of interested eyes, just leans back on his hands and shrugs, unfazed. “We make out sometimes,” he repeats. “What? It’s fun!” 

Jimmy leans forward next to them, as if transfixed. “Wait,” he says, voice filled with some indecipherable emotion, “Steph. You and Kyrie. Make out. With- with _each other.”_

“Yes,” Stephen replies soundly, “and there was also this time where Kyrie gave me a bl-”

“Right,” Kyrie finally decides to cut in. “They don’t need a detailed history of our sexual escapades.”

“Yes, we do,” the alphas chorus together, and Kyrie and Stephen jump. It’s almost creepy, how synchronized they are. 

“What,” Kyrie says slowly. The way Paul George is looking at him right now from across the room makes him feel kind of warm underneath the collar, “ _why?”_

“It’s really hot,” Jimmy blurts out, and then looks incredibly ashamed of himself and covers his mouth with his hand. 

Lebron clears his throat in front of them. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, “you have to understand. The idea of two omegas– especially two omegas like you guys _doing_ things together…it’s, it’s very appealing. To alphas.” 

Kyrie can’t help but pull a disgusted face. Geez, alphas are such pigs sometimes. “Guys, come on,” he says, “can you please stop thinking about Steph and I fucking each other.” 

He looks over to Stephen for support, but Stephen just shrugs. “I don’t mind it,” he says, and Kyrie’s mouth drops open. 

_“Steph!”_ He hisses, betrayed.

Stephen looks back at him innocently. “What?” He says, “come on, it’s kind of funny! It’s like…alpha kryptonite, or something.” 

“Alpha kryptonite,” Kyrie repeats dumbly. The alphas in the room are still watching their every move; what is this fucking situation? 

“Yeah,” Stephen replies easily. “I mean, they’re usually all on about how they’re so much bigger and stronger than us, but apparently all we need to do is, like, kiss, to make them cream their goddamn pants.” 

Kyrie blinks. That _is_ a pretty nice way to think about it. “Kiss,” he murmurs thoughtfully. He locks eyes with Stephen and a flash of understanding passes between them wordlessly. “You mean like this?” Kyrie moves forward until his knee is pressed on the bench next to Stephen’s thigh. 

He takes Stephen’s jaw gently in his hands and leans down so that their lips brush together. The air in the room is completely silent, as if not a single person is breathing. Kyrie leans forward even more, eyes going half-lidded…only to press an innocent peck against Stephen’s lips, and promptly pull away to sit back down in his original spot. 

He smiles sunnily at the room full of red-faced alphas. He meets Lebron’s eyes, who immediately looks flustered and averts his eyes. Wow, that’s a first. “Show’s over, guys,” he says loudly. That seems to finally break everybody out of their trance. Kyrie watches, amused, as the so-called big bad alphas clear their throats noisily and try to adjust themselves in their basketball shorts inconspicuously. 

“Hey, that was kind of fun,” he says to Stephen. 

Stephen nods slowly at him, “it _was,”_ he replies approvingly. 

Nearby, Klay coughs pointedly and closes his locker. “Kyrie,” he says, and continues when Kyrie’s turned around and he’s sure he has his attention: 

“ _That_ is why other omegas hate you guys.”


	3. Chapter 3

Kyrie isn't sure why he agreed to this.

A group of them are gathered in somebody's hotel suite, sitting in a circle playing Spin the Bottle, of all things. Kyrie had thought it was absolutely ridiculous when Stephen first told him to join in, but he really wants to get laid tonight, and he figured that Spin the fucking Bottle would help speed the process along if nothing else.

He watches Stephen and Joel kiss messily and he looks over to Klay, whose face is as stoic as ever. There's just the slightest clench to his jaw, however, and Kyrie shakes his head knowingly. He doesn't understand why Klay and Stephen don't just shack up, already. They're clearly into each other.

The game is more amusing than hot, to be honest. Especially when Dwyane and Carmelo are forced to lean towards each other wearing matching disgusted expressions, the 'kiss' lasting about 0.01 seconds from start to finish. Kyrie snickers into his palm along with everyone else.

It finally gets interesting when the bottle lands on him for once. He looks up and meets Paul George's eyes, who is sitting across from him in the circle. Hmm, Paul is pretty hot, he'll do. Kyrie smiles flirtatiously at him.

Paul smiles back, and Draymond punches his shoulder next to him. "You lucky bastard!" He whispers not so subtly.

Kyrie gets up onto his knees, crawling forward near the center of the circle. "Come on, then," he says.

Paul gets up and leans in as well. He doesn't try to be cute with it, either, just reaches out and grabs Kyrie's chin to tip his face upwards. Their lips more crash together than meet, Paul immediately sticking his tongue into Kyrie's mouth. Kyrie welcomes it with a moan, letting Paul lick into his mouth freely. It feels good, really good, especially since Kyrie hasn't hooked up with anyone in a few weeks now.

He doesn't fight it when Paul puts one hand around the back of his thigh and tugs, until Kyrie is moving forward, halfway into his lap. Paul's body is solid and hot beneath his, and shit, he really wants to get fucked tonight. Paul chooses that moment to curl his tongue around Kyrie's obscenely, and Kyrie whimpers at the back of his throat.

"Alright!" Stephen's voice says loudly somewhere behind him, and Kyrie finally pulls back, breathing heavily. He doesn't break eye contact with Paul, though, as they continue to study each other with dark eyes. "I think that was more than a kiss," Stephen jokes.

Kyrie forces himself to look away from Paul's hungry gaze. He backs up and settles into his previous spot with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "I don't know if I'm more envious, turned on, or disgusted with myself right now," Jimmy whispers, and Kyrie pats him on the shoulder.

It's Russell's turn to spin the bottle next, but Kyrie doesn't bother paying attention to who it lands on in favor of looking back over to Paul. Predictably enough, Paul is already staring at him with a smirk on his face. Kyrie bites his lip, and watches smugly as Paul's eyes darken.

They spend the next few rounds of the game basically eye-fucking one another. There's a hot buzz underneath Kyrie's skin that he hasn't felt in far too long, and he tilts his head subtly in the direction of the door, in the universal signal for _'wanna get out of here?'_ Paul doesn't hesitate before licking his lips and standing up.

It isn't subtle in the slightest, the way they both get up at the same time and start towards the exit. Kyrie is too amped up right now to care– plus, what had Kevin called him? Shameless?

Sure enough, the whistles and cat-calls come before Kyrie can even take three steps. "Ooh," Kyle calls, "have fun, you two!"

Kyrie waves a hand at them. "We will," he promises. He turns around, but only after he sweeps his eyes one last time over the group sitting on the floor. He briefly catches Lebron looking at him with an unreadable expression, but Paul's arm wrapping around his waist makes him forget all about it and they clamber out of the room.

"My room's just down the hall," Paul says, the first words they've spoken to each other all night. His voice comes out deliciously low and gruff, and Kyrie nods frantically.

As soon as Paul gets his door unlocked, Kyrie immediately finds himself on the other side of it, shoved up against the wooden surface roughly. Paul's mouth comes crashing down on his ravenously. They kiss until Kyrie runs out of breath and he has to turn his face to the side, and Paul just moves lower to attach his lips to Kyrie's neck.

"Ah," Kyrie's breath hitches when Paul's teeth graze over a particularly sensitive spot underneath his jaw. He pushes petulantly at Paul's broad shoulders, "bed."

Paul doesn't say anything and continues kissing along his neck, but his hands come up underneath Kyrie's thighs and he lifts him bodily, carrying him over to the bed. Kyrie quickly strips his clothes off so that he's only left in his boxers. Paul does the same at the foot of the bed; Kyrie eyes his perfectly sculpted six-pack. The large bulge in his underwear is also a mouthwatering sight.

Kyrie leans back onto his elbows. He knows how the way his shoulders are slightly hunched inwards actually accentuates the narrow of his waist, and Paul must see it, too, if the way he rakes his eyes appreciatively over Kyrie's body is any indication.

"Fuck," Paul says, crawling over until he's pressed above Kyrie, "you're so fucking sexy."

Kyrie just wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Paul's strong back muscles shift underneath Kyrie's fingers and he can't wait any longer, he needs to get fucked. Right now.

"Paul," Kyrie tips his head back and says breathlessly, "fuck me."

Paul growls at the words, eyes flashing with arousal. He rips Kyrie's boxers off of his body without pretense and stretches him generously, fingers pressing against Kyrie's walls. "Jesus, you're so wet," Paul says lowly into his ear, and Kyrie makes a pleading noise.

Soon enough, he gets what he wants and Paul is lining his cock up with his entrance. Kyrie bites his lip as he feels Paul's thick cockhead push past his puckering rim. Above him, Paul has an intense look of concentration as he watches his cock disappear into Kyrie.

When he just pauses there, as if taking it all in, Kyrie whines high and embarrassing. "Paul, move!"

Paul sucks in a heavy breath through his nose. "Ask me nicely, and I will."

Kyrie whimpers at the words. He looks up at Paul. "W-will you please move?" He asks. 

"Of course, baby," Paul leans down to kiss him on the forehead. That's all the warning Kyrie gets before Paul starts thrusting. He sets a brutal pace, hips slamming into Kyrie's forcefully and making him cry out in pleasure with every movement.

"So. Fucking. Tight." Paul grits out, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips, "you have no idea."

Kyrie can't do anything except for cling to Paul's bulging biceps helplessly. It feels way too good; he had really missed this feeling– of being owned, dominated, used, pounded into relentlessly. He clenches down and acutely feels the drag of his rim against Paul's pulsing hot cock, and Paul groans approvingly above him.

They continue on like that for– who knows how long? Definitely not Kyrie. His ass starts to sting just the slightest bit, and Paul also tenses. "Shit, I'm close," he chokes out.

"Me, _ahh,_ me, too," Kyrie gasps out, body almost shaking with the pleasure, when he remembers that they hadn't bothered with a condom. "Just, _fuck,_ don't come inside me."

Paul doesn't look ecstatic at the request or anything, but he thrusts until Kyrie comes first. Then, he pulls out and gives his own cock two more tugs, and he's coming all over Kyrie's stomach, their seed mixing into one.

They both breathe heavily, coming down from the high of an orgasm. Paul leans down and their lips meet again, but this kiss is more languid and relaxed. Kyrie melts into it, wrapping his arms around Paul's neck.

Paul pulls away reluctantly after a few moments. "I'd better get you cleaned up," he says, rolling off of the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. Kyrie lets his body relax into the mattress; his muscles are slightly sore, but in a good way, like they always are after a good fuck.

Paul re-emerges again shortly with a wet towel. He carefully wipes away the mess on Kyrie's torso, and Kyrie shivers at the stimulation on his oversensitive skin. He pulls Paul down again when he's done for a brief kiss. They shift into a cuddling position, with Paul's arm wrapped protectively around Kyrie's back.

Kyrie leans his head against Paul's chest. "You know," he says conversationally, "you're a pretty good lay."

He can practically hear Paul's eyebrows raise. "Yeah?" He asks, sounding curious.

Kyrie nods, tapping out a mindless rhythm on Paul's pecs. "You pulled out when I told you to, cleaned up afterwards," he lists, lifting his head to grin cheekily at Paul, "and you have a huge dick."

Paul huffs out an amused breath. "No complaints on my side, either," he says.

"Good," Kyrie clicks his tongue. "Hey, we should do this more often."

"Really?" Paul looks mildly surprised at that, but pleasantly so.

"Yeah," Kyrie shrugs, "but I'm just warning you, I'm not a big fan of relationships. Sometimes I just want to get fucked."

Paul nods slowly, "I get that," he replies. He adds thoughtfully, "so it's true that you and Steph like to play around, then."

"Play around," Kyrie considers this, and shrugs. "I guess you could call it that. Just don't get jealous if you walk in on me sucking someone else off, 'kay?"

He says the last part jokingly, but Paul's eyes darken a little. "I'll try," he replies hoarsely.

Kyrie looks away, slightly uncomfortable, and clears his throat. "Right," he says, "let's sleep."

Paul wraps his arms around him warmly, and they both fall into a peaceful slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

Kyrie's entire lower-body hurts the next morning. He actually doesn't mind the feeling that much, though. It's satisfying, in some weird way.

The downside is that it makes it exceptionally clear what he had gotten up to last night, as he half-limps and half-stumbles his way to breakfast. Stephen's eyebrows jump when he sees Kyrie, and he lets out a whistle. "You and Paul had a good time, I take it?"

Kyrie grabs a plate and starts piling pineapple onto it from the fruit bar. He shrugs, unabashed. "He has a massive cock," he says as an explanation. Stephen makes a face, but doesn't comment.

"Speaking of," Kyrie continues, "how was _your_ night?" He reaches for the yogurt.

Stephen makes a noncommittal noise. "Nowhere near as interesting as yours," he replies, "Joel kept trying to hook up but I wasn't really feeling it. I just ended up watching a movie with Klay."

Kyrie pauses. _"With Klay,_ huh?"

"It's not like that," Stephen immediately replies, but an incriminating flush is already climbing up his neck.

"Come on," Kyrie snorts, "when are you guys going to stop dancing around each other already?"

Stephen scowls at him, picking up a bowl of cereal. "I could ask you the same thing," he replies. "When are you going to stop sleeping around in an attempt to make Lebron jealous?"

Kyrie's mouth drops open. "Wow, what," he stutters, almost dropping his spoon full oatmeal. "We are _not_ having this conversation."

Stephen waves a hand in the air condescendingly, "well," he says, "come find me when you're ready to hear the truth."

Kyrie picks up a glass of juice and makes a face at Stephen. "Fuck you," he tells him eloquently and turns around. He's cursing Stephen incessantly underneath his breath as he walks into the dining area, setting down his plate on a random table and taking a seat, distracted. There's no way he's trying to make Lebron jealous– that's absolutely ridiculous!

......right?

"Morning," a deep voice says across from him. Kyrie jumps, forcibly snapped out of his own thoughts.

He looks up, and okay, this is just his fucking luck– Lebron is watching him in what appears to be mild amusement. Kyrie resists the urge to bang his head against the table. It's his own fault for not watching where he was going.

"Morning," he echoes back. He tries for a congenial smile, and then immediately picks up his fork and digs into his small mountain of tropical fruit.

Thankfully, Lebron spares the both of them and just begins eating as well. It isn't awkward, exactly, though Kyrie feels faintly unsettled. He shifts in his chair a couple times, ass still sore from the previous night's activities and unable to stay still in one position for a long time.

Lebron notices this, and Kyrie watches an odd look pass over his face briefly before it returns to neutral. "Late night last night?" He comments casually.

Kyrie startles at the inquisition. Oh, God, he would give anything not to be here right now. "Ha," he replies stiffly, "you could say that, yeah." He hopes that it's stilted enough to dissuade any sort of follow-up, but no such luck.

"Did you have a good time?" Lebron continues asking.

Kyrie blinks rapidly at Lebron's face, who just stares back at him expectantly. Is this a trick question? "I– yes?" He squeaks out, voice lilting up towards the end like he's asking a question.

Lebron doesn't look away. "Paul..." he murmurs, "he made you feel good? "

Kyrie chokes on his own spit. He looks at Lebron with wide eyes and feels himself blush up to his hairline, "B-Bron, what," he splutters, "what are you–"

There's finally a crack in Lebron's painfully calm demeanor, as his eyes narrow and darken with heat at once. "I'm asking," he says slowly, "if he made you feel good, Kyrie."

Kyrie's mouth opens soundlessly. Okay, judging by the dangerous glint in Lebron's eye, there's definitely a wrong answer to this. But also, is there a _right_ answer? He searches his brain for something vague, and safe. "He made me feel..." Kyrie swallows, "...adequate."

The side of Lebron's mouth pulls up into a smirk at that. He's amused, but his gaze is just as hot and heavy as he leans forward a little. "Adequate, huh?" He rasps, and Kyrie shivers. "Do you want to know something, Kyrie?"

Kyrie can't quite tear his eyes away from Lebron's, and he nods helplessly, transfixed.

"If it had been me," Lebron says, voice low and breath hitting the sensitive shell of Kyrie's ear, "you wouldn't be able to _walk_ the next day. And trust me when I say that I would fuck you so good you wouldn't even know what the word 'adequate' means."

He pulls back with a pleasant smile and returns to his breakfast, leaving Kyrie sitting there, shell-shocked. He insides feel hot and liquid, and he has to cross his legs awkwardly to stave off any...external reactions. Kyrie is too stunned to say anything for the rest of their meal, and Lebron doesn't try to initiate any conversation either.

Neither of them have broken the silence by the time Lebron finishes his food. He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and pushes his chair back, standing up. "Have a nice day, Kyrie," he says politely, but Kyrie sees the flash of smugness in his eyes before he turns around.

Kyrie sits there for a while after Lebron leaves, staring down at nothing in particular. His skin is still hot and tingling with anticipation even though Lebron hadn't even touched him. There is just one short thought swirling around intermittently in his mind.

_What the fuck just happened._


	5. Chapter 5

Okay before this chapter starts I just want to say– I am seriously just making this story up as I go along. So if you have any suggestions, any scenes/plotlines you want to see, just drop a comment and I might actually write it! 

*

Stephen busies himself over breakfast with trying to convince Klay to watch _Cats_ with him tonight– there _is_ such thing as so bad that it’s good, right? He’s halfway through his third talking point when a shadow falls over their tabletop, interrupting the conversation. 

Stephen looks up, only to find Joel standing next to their table, holding a plate and looking slightly sheepish. “Morning,” Stephen says to him, mildly confused. 

“Hey,” Joel greets back. He scratches the back of his head, “look, I just wanted to say…I’m sorry for coming on so strong last night.” He pauses, eyes flitting over briefly to where Klay is sitting. “I would’ve backed off immediately if I knew you guys were together, really!” 

Stephen frowns up at him, bemused. “If who was together?” 

“Uh,” Joel replies, looking caught off guard, “you and Klay…?”

Stephen blinks. He pinches himself discreetly underneath the table, and– ow. Okay, definitely real life, then. He carefully doesn’t look over at Klay. “I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” he tells Joel, “Klay and I are definitely _not_ together.”

Joel looks puzzled for a moment, before a knowing grin spreads across his face. “Don’t worry, guys,” he says, “I’ll keep it secret for you. I totally get that you guys want to keep it low-key.” 

Stephen sets down his fork. “No, seriously,” he says, more urgently this time, “we’re not together.” 

Joel nods, and drops an exaggerated wink at them. “You’re _not together,_ got it,” he says, in a tone that clearly implies otherwise. He’s giving them a big thumbs-up as he starts backing away. 

“Wait, Joel! Come back here–” Stephen tries to call him back, but he’s already slipped away. Stephen sighs and looks down at his lap for a moment, before begrudgingly forcing himself to lift his head to look in Klay’s direction. He tries not to blush when their eyes meet, and semi-succeeds. 

Klay’s expression is as unreadable as ever. Stephen usually finds that somewhat endearing about him, but right now he really wishes he could get an inkling of what Klay is thinking. Unfortunately, his face is in all senses a blank slate. 

Stephen laughs awkwardly. “Hah,” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “I wonder what that was all about.” 

His face starts to grow warm as Klay doesn’t say anything and just stares at him. It takes a few moments until Klay finally looks away. The slant of his brows is vaguely pensive; “I don’t know,” he replies, “it was…interesting.” 

Stephen’s eye twitches. He wouldn’t exactly call it ‘interesting,’ maybe more like ‘embarrassing.’ He doesn’t really want to continue this line of conversation, though, so he just makes a non-committal noise at the back of his throat, and changes the subject to something more innocuous. 

*

Stephen can’t stop thinking about it even as they make their way to the arena where All-Star Weekend is held. 

Why would Joel think that him and Klay are together? Like, _together_ together? Is Stephen really that obvious? A tiny part of him is jumping with joy that people actually think Klay could like him back, while the rest of him is discomfited by the idea that everybody seems to assume that they’re a couple. 

Call it self-preservation, if you will. Stephen just doesn’t want himself to overindulge in these too-good-to-be-true fantasies, only for reality to come crashing down all that much more harshly. 

That’s probably what causes him to chase down Joel in some random empty hallway before the event. “Joel, listen,” he says, “I just– I feel like I need to clear something up. Klay and I are _really_ not a- a couple.”

Joel tilts his head at him, and pats him on the shoulder. “Stephen, man,” he replies, looking sympathetic, “you seriously don’t have to lie to me. I saw you guys coming out of his room together this morning.” 

Stephen grimaces. Okay, so he can see how that might be sort of incriminating, but– “It wasn’t like that,” he explains with a slightly desperate edge. “We just watched a movie! That’s all.” 

Joel frowns at him skeptically. “Oh, come on,” he says, “you expect me to believe that an alpha and an omega were together by themselves in a hotel room all night, and nothing happened?”

“Yes!” Stephen replies emphatically, but Joel’s doubtful expression doesn’t let up. Stephen can tell that this whole conversation is starting to seem rather counterproductive, and blurts out in a last-ditch attempt: 

“I can prove to you that Klay and I aren’t together!” 

Joel looks intrigued despite himself. “You can prove it to me?” He asks, curious, “how?” 

Stephen splutters. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, truth be told. “I’ll, I’ll, uh,” he stammers, thinking, when an incredibly questionable idea occurs to him. Oh, well, it’ll have to do. “I’ll blow you! Right now in the locker room. How about that, huh? I would never be able to do that if I were in a relationship with Klay.” 

Joel looks well and truly shocked at that. He blinks down at Stephen, “well,” he says slowly, “I’m…certainly not going to say no to a blowjob from you, but are you sure–”

“Okay, let’s go, then,” Stephen interrupts, grabbing Joel’s arm and starting to drag him down the hallway. 

Joel protests half-heartedly all the way to the locker room, and Stephen almost rolls his eyes. He’s never met an alpha who has turned down a blowjob from him before, and Joel sure as hell isn’t going to be the first one.

They walk in and Stephen is searching for a spot to drop to his knees, but the sight that greets them makes both of them stop in their tracks. 

Kevin has Kyrie pushed up against the wall, and they’re making out in a…frustrated manner. Or Kyrie looks frustrated, at least, with his hands clutching at Kevin’s shoulders insistently and a slight furrow to his brow. Stephen just watches them, somewhat surprised. 

The room is silent other than the filthy sounds of their lips moving against each other and saliva being exchanged. Neither of them notice Stephen and Joel until Kyrie pulls back with a breathy moan, eyes finally opening– and promptly meeting Stephen’s judgmental stare. 

Kyrie immediately blushes and pushes a confused Kevin away from him. He clears his throat noisily, trying in vain to straighten out his rumpled clothes. Kevin turns around, then looks similarly embarrassed when he catches sight of them. 

“Kyrie,” Stephen is the one to break the ensuing silence, words slow and questioning. “What are you doing?”

Kyrie opens his mouth as if to reply, but not before his eyes slide appraisingly over Stephen and Joel. Namely, how Stephen’s hand is still curled suggestively around Joel’s forearm, and the way they’re standing a little too close together for comfort. 

“Steph,” he counters, “what are _you_ doing?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah haha sorry this is so dialogue heavy. did i mention that this thing doesn't have a plot? i must've : - )

“So let me get this straight,” Stephen says, brow furrowing. Him and Kyrie are facing each other, some ways apart sitting on the locker room bench. Joel and Kevin had both ducked out awkwardly a few moments earlier. 

“You were making out with Kevin because of…Lebron?” 

Kyrie crosses his arms. “Well, sort of,” he replies, looking a little put out. “Lebron…you don’t know how he looked at me during breakfast this morning. I swear I almost got wet right then and there. It made me very, ah, sexually frustrated.” 

Stephen decides to point out the obvious. “Why didn’t you just let _him_ fuck you, then?” 

Kyrie gasps, as if scandalized by the thought. “Steph! It’s not that simple.” 

“What do you mean? It’s not like you guys are virgins or something.” 

Kyrie sighs. “Okay, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he rubs a hand over his face, embarrassed. “I don’t want it to be… _just_ sex, with him.” 

It’s Stephen’s turn to gasp this time. He punches Kyrie on the shoulder, who looks back at him, unimpressed. “Wow,” Stephen says, “did I just hear the biggest slut I know other than myself say that he wants to _settle down?”_

“That is _not_ what I said,” Kyrie refutes him mercilessly. He rolls his eyes at Stephen, “dude, I’m not gonna ‘settle down’ just because Lebron used his sexy alpha voice on me once.”

Stephen shakes his head at him. “Oh, you fool,” he says pityingly, “you absolute dumbass–”

“I’m not taking this shit from _you,_ of all people,” Kyrie cuts him off. “Can I just get a refresher course on what you were doing with Joel just now?” He leans forward and looks at Stephen with mocking curiosity. 

“See,” Stephen says, shifting, “that’s a very complex situation. In order to fully explain it, I think we have to go back to…hmm, my early childhood. I was a bright young boy growing up on the bustling streets of–”

Kyrie holds up a hand to stop him. “Save it,” he tells Stephen, who scowls. “Look,” Kyrie says, “we’ve both made some…questionable decisions this morning. I casually made out with Kevin in a no-strings-attached situation, while you were about to suck Joel off for no apparent reason other than your fear of commitment. _However,_ we can move past this.” 

Stephen makes a face at the ‘fear of commitment’ part, but decides not to comment on how hypocritical that is. “Of course we can,” he replies, “seeing as we are all mature adults here. We can simply pretend none of this happened– especially _this_ horrible conversation.” 

Kyrie blows out a breath, as if in relief. “You read my fucking mind, man.” 

*

They end up just chatting the rest of the morning away, unmoving from their spots on the bench. Neither of them remember that there’s this thing called practice they were supposed to be doing until a crowd of other players come flooding into the locker room, reeking of sweat and pheromones. 

The alphas freeze, almost comically, when they realize Kyrie and Stephen are already there. Draymond is at the forefront of the group, and he looks between the two omegas un-subtly, licking his lips. 

“What,” he swallows, “what have you two been up to in here?” 

Stephen and Kyrie exchange a look. Kyrie is pretty sure these alphas are waiting for him to say that they were about to fuck, so they can add some material to their spank bank for later tonight. 

Kyrie shrugs faux-nonchalantly. “We were just talking,” he says, and tries not to laugh when the group in front of them visibly deflates, disappointed. An idea occurs to him, then, and he blurts it out before he can think better of it. 

“I _was_ just about to give Steph a massage, though.” 

The alphas perk back up like a bunch of overeager puppies. Kyrie presses his lips together so he won’t accidentally let a giggle out. 

Stephen, thankfully, catches on seamlessly. He heaves an exaggerated sigh; “but now that you guys are all here, it’ll probably just be a disturbance.” He turns to Kyrie with what looks like genuine regret, “another time, maybe.” 

“No!” Draymond blurts out loudly, and both Kyrie and Stephen turn to look at him, pretending to be surprised at his outburst. “I mean,” Draymond chuckles awkwardly, “no, it’s not a disturbance. At all. Please, go ahead.” 

Kyrie suppresses a smirk and looks at them imploringly. “Are you guys sure? ‘cause Steph and I can just as easily do this back at the hotel, alone in one of our rooms–”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Demarcus is the one who says this time. “We don’t mind! Right, guys?” What follows is a series of enthusiastic nods and vague murmurs of agreement.

Kyrie widens his eyes, “if you’re sure, then,” he says as he gets up and moves to stand behind Stephen. He moves like he’s in slow-motion, languidly setting his hands along the lines of Stephen’s shoulders. Nobody complains, however. Stephen probably isn’t even faking the small hitch in his breath upon Kyrie’s initial touch. 

He kneads at Stephen’s skin slowly. Not to toot his own horn or anything, but he is actually pretty good at giving massages. Stephen has a huge knot right beneath his right shoulder, and Kyrie says, voice laden with innuendo, “Steph, you’re so tight.” 

He digs his fingers into that spot, and Stephen groans loudly. It isn’t particularly sexually-charged, but the way that the alphas are watching them hungrily makes the noise seem heated. 

Kyrie continues his administrations smoothly, feeling it as Stephen’s muscles gradually relax. “You’re really good with your hands, Kyrie,” Stephen sighs. 

Kyrie bites his lip, “I’m even better with my mouth, if you know what I mean.”

He doesn’t have to see Stephen’s face to know that he’s smirking. “Oh, yeah, I _definitely_ know,” he replies suggestively without missing a beat. Damn, they work so fucking well together.

It goes on like that for a few minutes, Stephen letting out a string of incredibly indecent groans. Jesus, Kyrie thinks, if this basketball thing doesn’t work out, maybe Stephen should consider going into the porn industry. He leans down to speak next to Stephen’s ear; “dude, if you keep moaning like that, even _I’m_ going to pop a boner.” 

“Too over the top?” Stephen whispers to him, and he huffs out a breathy laugh. “Nah, just right,” he replies. 

They finally wrap up the display after another minute or so. Stephens shakes out his shoulders with a satisfied sound as Kyrie flexes his fingers behind him. “Thanks,” Stephen says all breathily, peering up at Kyrie through his lashes, “I really needed that.” 

Kyrie winks at him. “Anytime, babe,” he says. It isn’t until he’s moved and dropped back down on the bench next to Stephen that they look up at the group of alphas again, who are still looking at them, slack-jawed. 

Kyrie lifts his eyebrows pointedly, upon which Jimmy is amongst the first to finally come back to his senses. He stumbles forward, clanging his locker open loudly. The others follow after him, still looking faintly dazed. 

“You guys have got to stop doing that,” he hisses quietly at Kyrie and Stephen. 

“Oh, come on,” Kyrie rolls his eyes, “don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that immensely.” 

Jimmy has the decency to look embarrassed. “That’s irrelevant,” he replies stubbornly, though there’s a faint blush staining his cheeks. Kyrie just grins.

He allows himself to lean back onto his hands for a few moments, sweeping his eyes casually over the locker room. Everybody is mainly back to normal, now, though Klay is staring at Stephen like a hawk and a few others periodically sneak glances in their direction. Nobody will quite meet his eyes, which is amusing, until–

Lebron. He’s already watching Kyrie and probably has been for a while, when Kyrie’s eyes land on his. 

Kyrie swallows on instinct. He stares helplessly as Lebron’s eyes dip to watch the up-and-down bob of his throat, before immediately flitting back up. There are too many things swimming in those dark eyes, but Kyrie can pick out the most prominent ones. 

Heat. Excitement. Arousal. 

_…Hunger._

Kyrie smiles at that, and hums to himself in satisfaction. 

All in all, a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always: COMMENTS/SUGGESTIONS ARE APPRECIATED! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise update like whaaaaat. life has been stagnant lately so i'm back, just having some fun and verbalizing some really questionable ideas. kinda bummed that this fandom really faded out in the past six months, is anybody even still reading these fics? HAHA but anyways if you ARE reading this enjoy!

Everybody is hanging out in one of the common rooms back at the hotel later that night, and Kyrie and Stephen take up residence on the couch. They huddle around Stephen’s phone, ignoring the surreptitious glances they’re getting from the others in the room.

“So what did you want to show me?” Kyrie asks, trying to get comfortable against the cushions.

Stephen’s eyes sparkle as he taps at his phone. “Okay,” he says, “so listen. I was messing around on social media last night when I found this, this _brilliant_ Twitter community. And— you’ve just got to see this.”

Kyrie braces himself as he leans in closer to look at the phone screen, because Stephen’s idea of _brilliant_ tends to be questionable. The first thing that he sees is an image of Kyle and Demar standing close together, laughing at something or the other. What’s remarkable about it, however, is the colorful Twitter thread underneath it.

@KyMar4Ever<3: Ughh they are so cute. OTP for liiifee❤️❤️❤️

@LowryFan0001: damn Lowry lookin thicc af

@LowryHater1000: Trash.

@LowryFan0001: @LowryHater1000 shut the fuck up lame ass hater

@ilovepeanutbutter2019: They’re such a wholesome couple 😍 love them

@Raptorzzz102834: CUTEEEE!!!!!

Kyrie stops reading and looks up at Stephen. “So,” he hesitates briefly, “you found a…shipping community?”

“A _gay NBA_ shipping community!” Stephen corrects enthusiastically, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “And there’s like, a pretty big amount of people in it. Most of these threads are hilarious. Some of them are pretty hot, too, not gonna lie. Wait— let me show you this one.”

Stephen taps a few things and scrolls down until he finds what he’s looking for, and clicks into a different thread. This one is a stock photo of Kyrie, Lebron, and KD standing in a group and talking about something during the All-Star game. Kyrie is gesturing, in the middle of speaking, as Lebron and Kevin watch him. Kyrie swallows; he has a bad feeling about this. He mentally prepares himself before looking down at the replies.

@IShipEverything1382: OMGGG it’s our fave love triangle back at it 😍😍

@KD_MVP: The height difference is too cuteee

@ButlerxIrvingRocks: 🗣 jimmy come get ur bottom

@DramaQueen123: @ButlerxIrvingRocks You’re kidding right? Kyrie is Lebron’s bottom and Lebron’s bottom alone

@NBGayForever: bruhh Lebron and KD 100% thinking ab how to rail Ky tn they ain’t even slick

@Bestbrook1002: Russ ur man is getting stolen 👀

@GoatLBJ2948: I ain’t even mad this threesome is hot af

@I_Love_Splash: mmmmmmh alpha/alpha/omega ships are the fucking best

@EatingCurry24/7: damn imma start praying for the state of kyrie’s ass

Kyrie looks up, face furiously red and feeling strangely out of breath. The comments are pretty much exactly what he had been expecting, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling flustered and somewhat disturbed by them.

Stephen is watching him with a huge grin that only grows wider when their eyes meet. “See?” Stephen exclaims, “it’s awesome! Their imaginations are so creative.”  
  


Kyrie coughs and tries to get his flush under control. “I don’t know,” he says, “isn’t it kind of…embarrassing?”

Stephen looks at him, and then smirks. “Why, ‘cause it’s so close to the truth?”

Kyrie’s eyes widen. “Wh– what are you talking about,” he stutters, and Stephen laughs. Kyrie punches him on the shoulder, “shut the hell up, dude. You know damn well I’m not in some insane threesome with Bron and Kev.”

“But why not?” Stephen replies, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Doesn’t it sound kind of hot? I mean, I’ll bet that Lebron has a _huge_ dick. And you’ve seen Kevin’s before, so—”

“That’s _exactly_ why it’s fucking insane,” Kyrie interrupts. “Can you even imagine taking both of them at once? Fuck.” He shudders at the thought.

“What are you talking about?” Stephen retorts, getting a faintly dazed look on his face. “That sounds like a great time to me. And you know both of their personalities, they would be so dominant and aggressive in bed…”

Kyrie stares at Stephen like he’s grown two heads. He can barely fathom the thought of being with just one of them— because as Stephen said, both Lebron and Kevin are exceptionally dominant, competitive alphas. If he slept with the two of them at the same time, he would not only have to worry about satisfying both of them, but probably also have to stop them from fucking choking each other out in the middle or something like that.

“No, I’m good,” Kyrie says, “just one is enough for me, thanks.”

Stephen smirks again. “And we all know which one, don’t we.”

Kyrie’s ears grow warm, but he doesn’t deny it. “Whatever,” he huffs, grabbing the phone from Stephen in a bid to change the subject. “Now let me see that. There’s got to be at least a million threads on here about your thirsty ass.”

Sure enough, he barely even has to scroll to find a post that’s about Stephen. This one’s a picture of him and Klay, hugging on the court presumably after a win. They’re both smiling happily, and Kyrie has to say that the way they’re pressed so closely together is sus. 

@#1CurryFan: The way they’re looking at each other is so sweeeet 💕

@GSW_Is_The_Best: WARRIORS ARE SWEEPING THE FINALS THIS YEAR SEE URSELVES OUT

@SPLAAAASH: ugh they are so in love. Just look at them ugh my heart

@KlephenShipper348: omg they are so cute <3 soft bfs stay winning

@CurryIsTheGOAT: I love them so much. But not as much as they love each other aha 😘

@ILoveFries3090: soooo cuuuuuteeee

Kyrie frowns and looks up. “What,” he says indignantly, “why are all of your guys’ comments so wholesome while I’m stuck in horny hell?”

Stephen is blushing a little when he looks up as well, which is….well, it _is_ kind of cute. “W-what the hell,” he says instead of answering Kyrie’s question, “do we actually look like we’re in love?”

Kyrie stares at Stephen for a moment, trying to discern whether or not he’s being serious. Stephen just stares back, apparently 100 percent earnest.

“Well,” Kyrie replies. “Yes.”

Stephen’s cheeks get even redder, endearingly so. But it’s also sort of ridiculous, because the way Stephen and Klay interact with each other is _so_ incredibly obvious— something that Kyrie and likely several others have informed Stephen before. And usually Stephen is an exceedingly confident person, both as a basketball player and an omega, but for some reason he’s been unwilling to bridge this gap between him and Klay all this time. Kyrie thinks that if they really don’t get something going soon, he’s going to have to step in and intervene.

Stephen clears his throat noisily in front of him, probably about to change the subject. He does that sometimes, when they start talking about their feelings. Not that Kyrie has any room to point fingers there.

As expected, the next sentence out of Stephen’s mouth has nothing to do with _love._

“I mean,” he says, “not all the threads about Klay and I are like this, of course. I came across this super hot one last night about him fuc—”

“ _Right,”_ Kyrie says, holding a hand up. “No, yeah, thanks. I’m sure it was very…vivid. I can fill in the rest on my own.”

Stephen smiles beatifically at him. He leans back in his seat, before his eyes land on something past Kyrie’s shoulder, and his face absolutely lights up.

Kyrie turns to see what has inspired such strong delight from Stephen— but he should have known better, truly.

What he finds is Lebron and Kevin entering the room together while talking about something. Kyrie’s face goes up in flames at the sight of both of them, reminded of the thread earlier.

It only takes a second for Kevin to spot Kyrie and Stephen on the couch, upon which he immediately starts making his way towards them. Kyrie has never regretted being friends with Kevin so much before, because Lebron, still in conversation with Kevin, naturally follows along in their direction.

“Hey guys,” Kevin says when he’s close enough, Lebron still next to him which in turn means Kyrie’s face is still on fire. “Kyrie, why are you so red?”

Kyrie resists the urge to fan himself. “Uhhhhh,” he says, “it’s hot in here.”

Kevin’s brow furrows slightly in confusion, but he nods. “Right,” he says. See, that’s always been one of the things Kyrie appreciates the most about Kevin. He’s accommodating.

Lebron— not so much. He tilts his head, mouth quirking up into a smirk. “What’re you guys reading there? It seems… interesting.”

Kyrie stiffens. Stephen, however, has no qualms whatsoever about sharing.

“We were just looking at NBA shipping Twitter!” He replies cheerfully. “There are some real bangers on here.”

Kyrie clicks his tongue, and after a moment of deliberation just accepts the situation for what it is. They’re going to discuss gay NBA ships with Lebron and Kevin. His ideal Friday night, really.

“Some real bangers…” Kyrie repeats, murmuring. The phrase is so bizarre that it’s funny.

Lebron looks intrigued by the statement. As does Kevin, albeit a bit more reluctantly. “Really? Like what?” Lebron asks, stepping closer.

Stephen happily tilts his phone screen up. He seemingly taps into a random thread, but Kyrie knows him better than that. He definitely chose that one on purpose. Kyrie can’t see what it is from this angle, but he’s resigned himself to the situation at this point and just tilts his head back against the couch, content to watch the scene in front of him play out.

He has to admit, it _is_ pretty entertaining to watch Lebron and Kevin’s expressions as they absorb whatever is on the screen. Lebron’s face first jumps in surprise, and then morphs rapidly through the emotions of confusion, hunger, discomfit, anger, before finally settling on discontentment. Kevin’s reaction is more mild, as he appears uneasy for a moment before looking amused instead, though a slight tension lingers in his shoulders. Kyrie tries not to laugh, curious about what they’re looking at.

Fortunately, Stephen clears up that mystery very soon. “See, isn’t this a really great picture of Kyrie and PG?” He says sunnily, “the comments are so...enthusiastic, too.”

Kyrie raises his eyebrows, impressed by Stephen’s deviousness as he continues watching Lebron’s annoyed expression. Lebron finally turns to look at Kyrie, eyes slightly narrowed. Kyrie just looks back nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah, an absolute banger.” Kyrie comments. 

“That it is, my friend,” Stephen agrees, “that it is.”

“Yo, no cap,” Kevin says because he can also be a little shit just like them, “that _was_ kind of a banger. Great photo composition, rule of thirds and all that. Are there any about me?”

“Of course, man, I got you,” Stephen replies. “But what are you gonna do, comment on the pairings you don’t like with your burner?”

“If I see any about Dray or Bron and I, Imma flip.” Kevin replies good-naturedly as Stephen turns his phone to show him a different thread.

“Oh damn,” Kevin’s face does some interesting gymnastics as he takes in what he’s seeing. “Lebron, Kyrie, _and_ me? That’s an interesting one.”

Kyrie turns to watch Lebron closely when he hears the words. Lebron’s expression darkens even further, clearly displeased. Interesting. So he’s not okay with it even if he’s a part of the pairing. Er, threesome.

Stephen suddenly barks out a laugh at something he reads onscreen. “Haha, listen to this one,” he says, and begins to quote one of the comments. “‘Kyrie about to miss another 50 games after having to take both of their dicks—’”

“That won’t be an issue.” Lebron cuts the statement off gruffly.

His eyes are still slightly narrowed, demeanor cold enough to drop the temperature of the room a few degrees— but strangely enough, the sight of him instead makes Kyrie’s heart pound faster, skin heating up as blood pumps through his veins.

Kyrie clears his throat, and feels even warmer when Lebron’s eyes cut to him at the noise. “And why’s that?” Kyrie asks.

Lebron looks at him for one long, heated moment. The side of his mouth pulls up just the slightest bit.

“Because the only dick you’re going to be taking is mine.” He replies.

A bolt of electricity races down Kyrie’s spine at the confident, possessive declaration. He holds back a long swallow and tilts his head, intent not to back down now. “Who says that’s going to happen?” He’s glad that his voice doesn’t waver. 

Lebron’s expression doesn’t exactly change upon hearing the question, but he seems…colder. He steps closer to where Kyrie is sitting on the couch, bending down and leaning forward until Kyrie is forced to sink back into the cushions in order to avoid bumping into him. Lebron puts one hand on the back of the couch next to Kyrie’s head, and moves in even closer. Their faces are only inches apart, and Kyrie feels frozen in place by Lebron’s stare.

“Kyrie,” Lebron says, voice deliciously low and rumbling. “I know you like to play your little games and rile me up. But if you keep pushing my buttons like this…you may end up regretting it.”

His eyes flash dark when he finishes speaking, pure alpha, and Kyrie really does gulp this time. The air between them is thick and heavy, eye contact not breaking even as Lebron pulls back and straightens up. Lebron just gives Kyrie another meaningful look, no more words exchanged before he abruptly turns and walks out of the room, jaw clenched and shoulders tensed.

Kyrie watches Lebron’s retreating back until he disappears from sight. There are several moments of loaded silence in which he’s pretty sure he isn’t even breathing.

“Holy,” Stephen is the one to break the tension and blurts out. “That was intense.”

Kyrie startles, just now remembering that there’s an audience. His heartbeat is still thundering in his ears, and exhilaration wells up in his chest like he’s only felt before in the final minutes of a basketball game. Lebron can say whatever he wants to, but they both know that he enjoys this little cat-and-mouse game just as much as Kyrie does. The fact that they’re reaching the tipping point soon is only the cherry on top; it only makes Kyrie want to mess with him even more.

Kyrie licks his lips. He’s sure his pupils are dilated, looking somewhat unhinged from the thrill. “Shit,” he turns to Stephen, “I can’t wait to push him until he _breaks.”_

Stephen studies him for a moment, before he shakes his head slowly like he’s given up. “And you say _I’m_ crazy,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall here's another chapter lol, i actually had the first part of this written since may last year and just never finished it hahha. anyways thanks for all the comments on the last chapter, just know that i read them all and really appreciate them! hope you guys enjoy :)

Stephen has to duck out of the common room for a minute after the display from Kyrie and Lebron. Not even gonna lie, it got him feeling a bit hot underneath the collar himself. He steps outside to get a drink from the vending machine in the hallway, which is empty save for him.

He’s puzzling over Gatorade versus a nice sugary Coke, when he feels more than hears someone approaching him from down the hall. He turns around, only to find Andre Iguodala walking closer, stance almost a bit too casual while his eyebrows are slanted in concentration.

“Hey, Andre, what’s up?” Stephen greets first, throwing in a small wave.

“Hey, Steph,” Andre replies. He pauses, looking unsure for a second, before a determined glint enters his eyes. He stops in front of Stephen, “listen, I…wanted to ask you something.”

Stephen blinks. “Ask away,” he says, curious.

Andre stuffs his hands in his pockets. There’s a peculiar set to his jaw, “I was just wondering,” he starts slowly. He tilts his head at Stephen;

“Are you and Klay a thing?”

Stephen almost drops his wallet, which he had been fiddling with. “I–” he chokes out, “sorry, _what_?”

“You and Klay,” Andre repeats, an indecipherable edge to his voice. “Are you guys— involved?”  
  


Stephen wants to throw his hands up and scream in indignation, after he gets over the initial shock. “Why the hell does everyone assume that?” He asks, perhaps a touch more heated than the situation warrants, but damn, he’s so sick of this shit! First Kyrie, then Joel, then the Twitterverse, now _Andre?_ “We’re definitely not together! Fuck, like that would ever happen in a million years.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, and in front of him, Andre clears his throat loudly.

“Good,” Andre says, “then I’m not stepping on anybody’s toes by doing this.”

“Doing wha–” Stephen starts to say, but his mouth snaps shut when Andre moves closer, so that Stephen is forced to step backwards until his back is pressed up against the glass of the vending machine. He’s still incredibly confused when Andre lifts one hand to caress the side of his face gently.

“Uh,” Stephen says eloquently, voice coming out high-pitched, as Andre swipes a thumb over his cheekbone. “Mind cluing me in on this one?”

Andre presses even closer and Stephen tilts his head back to maintain eye contact. Omegas aren’t really supposed to do that, but fuck what he’s supposed to do. He’d like some answers right now, please.

“Steph, I–” Andre pauses, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I like you.” His face is open and earnest. “I want you to be mine.”

Stephen feels his eyes widen into saucers, well and truly surprised at the turn of events. It’s one of the most straightforward propositions he’s heard, and he’d have to be blind to not know that Andre has had a thing for him for a while now, but the timing of it all is just…weird.

“Wh-what brought this on?” He asks, both as a deflection and because he genuinely wants to know. 

Andre is looking at him with a dreamy look in his eyes. Stephen winces internally; sex, he can do, but if he’s being honest with himself, he isn’t looking for a stomach-twisting love confession from anyone other than Klay at the moment.

“It’s just– in the locker room earlier today,” Andre explains. “You should’ve seen how those other alphas were looking at you. I could barely take it. I just knew…I wouldn’t like it. If you weren’t _mine._ Mine and no one else’s. _”_

Stephen is sure his eyebrows do some interesting gymnastics as he mulls this over. Of course, he knew what his response would be the moment Andre started talking, but he needs a moment to put it into words.

“Look, Andre,” he starts eventually. Aw, here goes his least favorite part of the day. “I’m sorry,” Stephen says apologetically, “I just don’t see us being in a relationship like that together. I hope you understand.”

He forces himself not to look away when Andre’s hopeful expression falls. Damn, who said that being a heartbreaker is fun? It’s depressing and guilt-inducing as hell.

“But why?” Andre asks, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “Is– is there someone else? Do you already—”

“I don’t belong to anybody except for myself,” Stephen cuts him off. It’s true, and he also really isn’t in the mood to explain how he’s unfortunately infatuated with a certain emotionally-stunted shooting guard. Stephen reaches up and lightly pushes at Andre’s chest until he steps back, and he has his personal space again.

Andre still looks helplessly lost, and Stephen softens a little. “Andre,” he says, but decides against reaching out and touching his arm. “I really appreciate and value you as a friend and teammate, man. This doesn’t change that. Okay?”

Andre just nods. “Right,” he murmurs, the crestfallen slump to his shoulders betraying his mood. “I,” he starts to say, but then seems to decide against it and moves away slightly. “Never mind. I’ll… I’ll see you around, then, Steph.”

Stephen tries not to feel too guilty as he watches Andre turn and walk away, and fails. It never feels good to reject people, especially someone that Stephen actually holds in high regard. He sighs, and hits a random button on the vending machine.

A can of Dr.Pepper rolls down into the slot with a loud _clunk,_ and Stephen makes a face. How did he manage to pick the worst option available?

Before he can bend down to retrieve it, there’s the sound of someone else entering the hallway and Stephen looks towards the noise.

It’s just his fucking luck— a confused-looking Klay turns the corner into the corridor, and shit, he’s about the last person Stephen wants to see right now. Is this how Kyrie had felt earlier when Lebron and Kevin walked in together? Damn.

“Hey,” Klay says as he approaches Stephen. He jabs a thumb in the direction Andre had just disappeared in with a concerned frown. “I just saw Andre looking sad as hell, do you know what that’s about?”

Stephen stiffens. _I just brutally broke his heart and actually,_ ** _you’re_** _kind of the reason why_ would be a terrible thing to say right now. For once in his life, Stephen holds himself back from blurting out the first thing that crosses his mind.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh,” he says instead. “I don’t know, man.”

Klay narrows his eyes at him, clearly unconvinced by Stephen’s admittedly sub-par lying. “Are you sure?”

Stephen huffs out a laugh that sounds nervous even to his own ears. “Of course I don’t know,” he says, a bit high-pitched, “what are you trying to insinuate here?”

“Okay,” Klay says suspiciously, “now you’re just acting weird. Did something happen between you guys or something?”

Stephen’s eyes widen, panicked. “ _No,”_ he says emphatically, “why would you think _that_?”

Klay doesn’t buy it for a second and steps closer. “Steph,” he says, an firm undertone to his voice, “tell me what happened.”

Stephen considers denying it again— before he sees the look on Klay’s face. Klay is usually a reserved and low-key person off the court, but he can be amazingly and annoyingly stubborn at times. And the expression he’s got right now fully tells Stephen that he’s not going to let this one go so easily. Ugh, Stephen has really got to work on his acting skills after this.

He heaves another sigh, and rubs a hand over his face. Klay is still watching him expectantly. “Fine,” Stephen says, and braces himself.

“Andre confessed to me,” he mumbles through his fingers.

Klay leans in, not having heard him clearly. “What was that?”

Stephen lifts his chin higher and glowers at Klay. “I said,” he repeats loudly, “Andre _confessed_ to me, okay?”

The words have an instant effect, and Klay goes completely still for several moments. It’s impossible to read anything from his expression as he processes the words, and Stephen turns his head away, inexplicably annoyed by this. Stupid, stoic alpha who never reacts to anything. Kyrie’s got it easy, with Lebron being so openly jealous like that.

“And...you rejected him?” Klay finally asks after a long pause.

Stephen huffs, irritated. “Of course I did!” He replies, “what—”

“ _Good.”_ Klay says.

Stephen’s mouth snaps shut.

He whirls his head back around to stare at Klay, surprised, who just looks back steadily. There’s a heat behind his eyes that Stephen has only seen a few times before, and never in such a suggestive context. The air around them suddenly feels like it’s been sucked right out of the room. 

“Good,” Klay says again, this time more slowly. “Don’t… don’t say yes, even if he asks again.”

Stephen feels frozen in place, not looking away from Klay’s eyes. He swallows through a parched throat. “Why?” He asks. 

Klay moves closer to him in lieu of a verbal answer. He crowds in until Stephen is once again backed up against the cool glass of the vending machine, but unlike earlier Stephen’s heart is pounding faster and faster, adrenaline coursing through his veins and heat swirling in his stomach as he is forced to tip his head backwards to maintain eye contact.

His breath hitches when Klay’s hands land loosely on his hips. “Do you really not know why?” Klay breathes out, voice low and rough, hot breath puffing against the sensitive underside of Stephen’s jaw.

Stephen shivers at the feeling. Is this actually happening right now? He licks his lips nervously, and only grows warmer when Klay’s eyes drop conspicuously to look at his mouth.

“I need you to tell me,” Stephen says into the small space between them, voice barely above a whisper.

Klay pauses for a moment, hesitating briefly, before he opens his mouth. His eyes flick back up to Stephen’s, and Stephen’s skin grows warm with anticipation. “Be—"

The door at the end of the hallway bursts open, clanging loudly against the wall.

Both of them turn their heads at the noise, startled. Draymond stumbles out of the room, looking peeved, but his eyes widen almost comically when he catches sight of Stephen and Klay. Stephen starts internally cursing him to the seventh circle of hell and back— they had finally been actually getting somewhere! Part of him is still in disbelief at the whole episode, and the other part incredibly annoyed at being interrupted during such a loaded moment.

Meanwhile, Draymond is looking between the two of them and appears to quickly come to a similar conclusion.

“Oh shit,” he says, “sorry about that, guys. Didn’t mean to interrupt a….moment. But uh, Klay, I really need you for something. The trainer’s asking for you.”

At least he looks apologetic about it, though that doesn’t stop Stephen from glaring daggers at him. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, man.” Draymond says sheepishly.

Klay’s hands tighten around Stephen’s hips for a split, heated second, before he retracts them naturally. Stephen instantly misses the feeling. 

“Alright, I’m coming,” Klay tells Draymond, and looks back at Stephen. His eyes are still dark and brimming with some emotion or the other. Neither of them say anything like ‘Let’s talk later.’ Stephen desperately wants to, but the words get stuck in his throat.

They continue watching each other for long enough that Draymond has to clear his throat awkwardly. “Uh, guys?” He says.

Klay finally steps away from Stephen, face back to its usual neutral state. “Right, sorry,” he says, “I’ll see you, Steph.”

Stephen just nods back wordlessly. A few moments later, and Klay is disappearing down the hallway with Draymond.

His heartbeat refuses to slow down, and now that the intense atmosphere has dissipated Stephen faintly realizes that his legs feel like jelly. He makes sure that Klay and Draymond are completely gone before he lets himself slump onto the floor, back against the vending machine and legs bent in front of him.

Stephen brings a hand up against his jawline where Klay’s breath had hit earlier. He can almost still feel it, at the juncture of his neck. Stephen exhales deeply, and thunks his head back against the glass. He suddenly remembers the Dr.Pepper that he had purchased before the whole incident, and reaches back and fishes it out of the vending machine slot.

Stephen lifts the can and presses its ice-cold surface to his flaming face. “Oh my fucking God,” he breathes to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly feel kinda bad for doing andre like that 😹  
> drop a comment! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so dialogue heavy! but honestly i had so much fun writing this chapter, nothing /really/ happens plot wise but i hope you guys enjoy it anyways. i just love writing/imagining the little conversations the characters have :)

“Hey Jimmy,” Kyrie says, plopping down in the seat across from Jimmy’s the next morning in the hotel dining hall. He doesn’t wait for a greeting back before continuing, “You like to piss people off, don’t you?”

Jimmy pauses in the middle of a bite of cereal, and looks up at Kyrie suspiciously. “I like getting on my opponents’ nerves, yeah,” he replies somewhat cautiously.

Kyrie nods, leaning in closer. “And Lebron is one of your greatest opponents, right?”

“Oh hell nah,” Jimmy replies immediately. He puts his hands up to indicate his innocence. “I see where this is going, and I’m just going to tell you straight up: leave me out of this.”

Kyrie pouts. “You didn’t even listen to what I have to say.”

Jimmy snorts. “I don’t need to,” he says. “There’s no way in hell I’m helping you make Lebron jealous. That’s basically suicide.”

Kyrie heaves a sigh, and slumps back into his chair, dejected. “Kevin said the exact same thing,” he grumbles.

“Exactly, man,” Jimmy says, shaking his head. He stuffs his spoonful of cereal into his mouth, chewing and swallowing noisily. “Why don’t you just ask Steph? He’s about the only person who would want the job, anyway.”

Kyrie waves a hand dismissively in the air, already having thought of that option. “That would just make Lebron horny, not mad,” he explains. “I want to make him horny _and_ mad.”

Jimmy shakes his head again. “You’re a straight menace, man,” he says, “I feel bad for Lebron, I really do.”

Kyrie rolls his eyes at that. “Don’t even, Jimmy,” he replies, “you know Lebron. He _enjoys_ shit like this, which is perfect because _I_ enjoy seeing him get all growl-y and intense.”

Jimmy makes a face in reply, but doesn’t comment. Their conversation is soon interrupted by Stephen, who arrives at the table loudly and with a flurry, pulling out the chair next to Kyrie’s and setting down his plate.

“Morning!” He greets cheerfully, sliding into the seat. “What’re you guys talking about?”

Kyrie is about to say ‘Nothing’, because Stephen will no doubt give him shit for this, but Jimmy beats him to the punch. “Ky’s trying to rally the troops to make Lebron jealous,” he answers.

Predictably, Stephen’s head whips around to him like a shark that smells blood in the water. He tilts his head back to look down his nose at Kyrie, and Kyrie stifles a groan at the incoming bullshit he’s about to have to endure.

“Oh really,” Stephen says, somewhat condescendingly. “Because I swear to God just a scant 24 hours ago, Kyrie was insisting to the wise, all-knowing Stephen that he definitely _isn’t_ trying to make Lebron jealous.”

“Don’t refer to yourself in third person,” Kyrie replies automatically, and then sighs. “Also… yeah………..” He taps his fingers arrhythmically against the table, “…I was in denial…… sorry.”

Stephen’s eyebrows jump, clearly surprised that Kyrie is admitting defeat so easily. “Well,” he says cockily anyway, “now you know— Uncle Stephen is always right.”

“What did I _just_ say?” Kyrie complains. 

Stephen ignores him and barrels on. “Now, I will very magnanimously aid you in your quest to make Lebron jealous. And, I can’t lie, pissing Lebron off is also a personal hobby of mine. One might even say that I’m an expert.”

“Well damn, slow down there Dr. Phil,” Kyrie replies, unimpressed. “But it’s fine. I’ve hit a dead end already; Kev and Jimmy are both adamantly against being my accomplice in this.” He sticks his tongue out at Jimmy, who just shrugs at him, looking amused.

Stephen hums thoughtfully, fork sticking out of his mouth. “Why don’t you ask Paul? I bet he’d be up for it.”

Kyrie _tsk_ ’s. “I thought about it,” he says, “but that’d be sort of unfair to him. I don’t want to lead him on. I asked Kevin because neither of us are romantically interested in each other, and I asked Jimmy ‘cause I know commitment won’t be an issue with him. There aren’t really any viable options left.”

Before Stephen can say anything, Jimmy stops eating his breakfast again to interrupt. “Wait, what do you mean commitment won’t be an issue with me?” He asks indignantly.

Kyrie pulls a face at him. “All I’m saying is that you’ve got issues, Jim.”

“That’s mighty rich coming from _you,”_ Jimmy scoffs, “but whatever. I’ll let this one go.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kyrie says sarcastically.

“Christ, I forgot how annoying you two can get when you start going at it,” Stephen says. “But anyways, let’s focus up— Kyrie’s love life is at stake here!”

Kyrie leans back in his chair, and flaps a hand in the air in response. “Enough about _my_ love life, let’s talk about _your_ love life,” he says, expression turning smug when Stephen’s face immediately reddens. “See? Something definitely happened last night, after you left to get a drink and then never came back. Spill!”

Stephen, still faintly blushing, looks to Jimmy as if to say _Don’t you want to give Kyrie shit for longer instead?_ But Kyrie knows Jimmy better than him, so he isn’t surprised when Jimmy raises his eyebrows and says, “Yeah, Steph, why don’t you share with the class?”

Stephen flushes even harder as Kyrie and Jimmy both watch him expectantly. He lifts his right hand to fan himself and whines, “do we have to talk about this right now?”

“ _Yes,_ man,” Kyrie replies, propping up an elbow on the table and leaning his cheek against it. “I know you’re actually dying to, so hurry up.”

Stephen sniffs at that, but he doesn’t deny it. “It’s— Klay, he really— I just— I can’t with him!” He stutters incoherently.

Kyrie squints at him. “Wow,” he says, “you’re really flustered, aren’t you? What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Stephen wails despairingly, throwing his hands up. “I was just minding my own business, trying to use the damn vending machine. And then Iggy comes up to me and he’s all like, ‘Steph I like you I want you to be mine’ and I was all like ‘sorry man I’m just not into you’ so he left. And _then_ Klay appears out of nowhere and he’s like ‘Steph why does Iggy look so sad what happened’ and I had to be like ‘bitch I just broke his fucking heart’ and Klay had the _audacity_ to say ‘ _Good.’_ Like what the hell does that mean? And I swear to God he was about 2 seconds away from asking me out but then Draymond interrupted us and I still have no idea whether or not I was reading the situation correctly. And on top of all of that I didn’t even get the damn drink I wanted and had a fucking Dr.Pepper instead. Fuck.”

He takes a deep breath when he’s done ranting, looking like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders now that he’s gotten all of that off his chest. Meanwhile, Kyrie and Jimmy are gaping at him, trying to make sense of the convoluted word vomit they just heard.

“Wait, Iggy finally confessed to you?” Jimmy says after a moment.

“Forget that, Klay almost asked you out!?” Kyrie exclaims, genuinely surprised and happy for them. It’s about time something actually happened between them.

“I _think_ he did,” Stephen corrects Kyrie. “And yeah, it really bummed me out to reject Andre like that.”

“I didn’t even have to be there to know that Klay was definitely going to confess his undying love for you and sweep you up in his arms,” Kyrie comments, and Stephen blushes again.

“You don’t know that,” Stephen refutes, biting his lip.

“Yes, I do,” Kyrie replies. “Also— what are you waiting for? You guys need to talk again and have a straightforward, uninterrupted conversation ASAP!”

Stephen rolls his eyes at that. “It’s not that easy, Kyrie,” he says haughtily. “Besides, I could say the exact same thing for you and Lebron. Wouldn’t all your problems be solved just by, you know, talking?”

“Pfft,” Kyrie clicks his tongue, “that’s not the same situation at all.”

Before Stephen can respond with something no doubt equally immature, Jimmy clears his throat noisily, attracting both of their attentions.

“ _Both_ of you guys are dumbasses,” Jimmy declares. “No arguments about that, are there?”

Kyrie and Stephen stare at him, speechless. Jimmy returns leisurely to his breakfast and takes a long sip from his glass of juice. “Now hurry up and eat your food,” he says, “we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment! i always read them and they're like 90% of my motivation to write lmao <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm the goat of writing chapters where nothing rly happens :')  
> there are so many scenes i want to write but idk where to start, if you guys have any suggestions/specific things u wanna see pls drop a comment!

Kyrie has more or less given up on his plan by the time they arrive at the arena. It _is_ a bit immature, he’ll admit, though the main issue remains that there is a distinct lack of suitable candidates to kickstart it at all. 

They are all given a lengthy period of free time throughout the day, just to walk around and mingle or get some shots up on the floor. Kyrie always enjoys All-Star Weekend for these reasons, though the downside is that there are cameras filming their every move 24/7.

He spins a basketball absentmindedly on one knuckle and looks around the court, only to find himself more or less alone. Kevin and Jimmy are outside doing their interviews, and Lebron is on the other side of the gym but it’s too early in the morning for Kyrie to want to deal with all that intensity. Stephen is also nearby, but Klay is with him and they’re laughing at something together; Kyrie definitely does not want to disturb them.

Well, it’s not like Kyrie is on bad terms with any of the guys in the league. He shrugs and picks a spot on the court, near where Paul and Giannis are practicing jump shots. Kind of a strange combination of people, but Kyrie supposes this is what All-Star Weekend is for.

He daps Paul and Giannis up, doing his best to ignore the appreciative once-over Paul gives him, and begins practicing his own shots and layups. They continue like that for a bit in amicable silence— until Russell walks into the area.

Kyrie gulps reflexively as Russell greets the other two. Going back to his earlier generalization, it’s not that Russell and him are on _bad_ terms, exactly, but it’s been somewhat tense and weird between them because of Kevin. Kyrie tries for a friendly smile when Russell turns to him after doing a handshake with Paul.

“Hey Russ,” he says, and breathes a sigh of relief when Russell says ‘hey’ back and leans forward for a perfunctory bro hug. Of course, all of this is done with an extremely awkward undercurrent to it.

After they pull back, they predictably stare at each other uneasily, unsure of how to proceed. Kyrie’s eye twitches, as he internally prays for some kind of interruption or distraction to happen right now.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Kevin chooses that moment to walk up to them.

Kyrie turns his head to see Kevin’s approaching figure, and almost screams in frustration. He tries in vain to take his prayer back; this kind of interruption is worse than nothing at all. ….Is Kevin fucking blind? People usually avoid their exes like the plague, right!?

Apparently Kevin _is_ blind, because as he walks closer, he presumably just now spots that Russell is here, and he freezes. It would be comical in any other situation, but right now all Kyrie can feel is his blood pressure rising with each passing second. The three of them stand there, gawping at each other in the most awkward stalemate known to mankind, while Giannis and Paul watch on in avid interest.

“Oh,” Kevin finally breaks the silence after a couple seconds. “Um, I didn’t see you there, Russ.”

Kyrie wants to face palm as soon as he hears the words leave Kevin’s mouth. This guy, seriously….. and Kevin has the gall to make fun of _Kyrie_ for being a disaster? He’s a whole ass catastrophe himself!

Russell, rightfully so, looks upset by this. “Wow,” he says, brow furrowing as he looks at them, “I really don’t need this right now. You two… you two have fun together.”

He makes to start walking away, but Kyrie, panicked, grabs his arm before he can leave. First of all, Kyrie feels guilty because Russell seems genuinely hurt. Secondly, the premise of this whole situation is ridiculous since Kyrie and Kevin aren’t even together or interested in being so. They are simply friends with benefits to the purest degree, and even that is about to become a thing of the past.

“Wait,” Kyrie blurts out, and startles when Russell turns back to him, still looking distraught. “Russ, uh,” he scrambles to say something to rectify the situation. “I think you’re misunderstanding something. Kev and I…. we’re not like that, really.”

He pauses, and takes a good look at both Kevin and Russell. Kevin is still virtually frozen in place, expression unreadable, but his eyes haven’t left Russell once this entire time. And Russell, whose features eased up just the tiniest bit after hearing Kyrie’s words. He almost wants to snort; they’re so clearly still in love with each other.

With this in mind, Kyrie continues speaking. “I think you two should really talk. You might be surprised.”

Russell looks at him for a moment, expression flickering, before he heaves a deep sigh. “Look, Kyrie,” he says. “I appreciate the good will, but it’s not as simple as you think it is.” He hesitates briefly, before saying the next part. “And… to be honest, you’re kind of the main reason why.”

Kyrie blinks, shocked. He points at himself, “ _me_?”

“Yeah,” Russell replies evenly, “you.”

Kyrie looks to Kevin for help on this, but Kevin is still useless and just stares cluelessly back at him. “Er,” Kyrie says, confused, “but I just mentioned that Kevin and I are, um…. we aren’t romantically involved. At all.”

Russell shakes his head. “I believe you,” he says, “but you have to understand. The fact that he has someone like you so close by in his life at all….. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t just ignore your guys’ history. A part of me will always be scared that Kevin will suddenly decide he prefers a less complicated relationship with you. Especially since, you know. Kyrie, you’re always….. available.”

Kyrie’s face heats up a little at the words. Did Russell just call him a hoe in the nicest, most understated way possible? Not that he’s wrong, given Kyrie’s history.

Kevin finally decides to make his presence known, and opens his mouth. “Russ, you don’t have to worry about that,” he says earnestly. “I mean, to begin with I definitely wouldn’t do that to you. But also, that won’t even be a possibility at all anymore because Ky will be too busy getting the shit fucked out of him by Lebron—”

“Hey!” Kyrie interrupts, face suddenly full-on burning. He glares at Kevin, “what the hell are you saying now?”

Kevin just shrugs. “What? It’s true.”

Troublingly enough, Russell actually looks somewhat placated by this. “Woah, really?” He says, looking at Kyrie curiously. “I mean, I knew that you and Lebron had a complicated relationship, but is it finally official now? Congrats.”

Kyrie tries not to choke on his own spit and presses the back of his hand against his cheek, which doesn’t really help cool it down. “How the hell did you get to _that_ conclusion from what Kev said?” He asks, exasperated.

“I mean, I can read between the lines,” Russell replies, and Kevin nods his head vigorously in agreement. Kyrie stares at the two of them, speechless.

After a moment, he shakes his head. “You know what,” he says, “look no further than this for evidence that you two deserve each other.”

He doesn’t know whether he feels more gratified or annoyed when Kevin and Russell both blush at that. “We still need to talk it out,” Russell mumbles, and Kevin reaches out to wrap a hand around his wrist, tugging him towards the exit of the gym. Russell protests halfheartedly but nonetheless lets himself get pulled along, presumably on their way to have that very talk. Kyrie rolls his eyes at their retreating backs, but can’t help the small upward quirk of his lips as he watches them walk away side by side. Just like old times.

“Wow,” Giannis says, which is when Kyrie remembers that he’s been here this whole time. “Did you just solve Kevin and Russell’s relationship problems?”

Kyrie jumps. “Probably not all of them,” he replies after a moment. “But hey. That’s my good deed for the day. Hopefully they can figure out the rest on their own.”

Before Giannis can reply, Stephen appears out of nowhere and loops his arm around Kyrie’s neck from behind. “Who can figure what out on their own?” He asks eagerly, always one for the gossip. Kyrie winces at his loud voice right next to his ear, and pushes Stephen’s head slightly further away with his hand, unimpressed.

“Kev and Russ, I think I finally got them to get back together.” Kyrie replies, blowing out a breath.

Stephen pulls back slightly. He gives Kyrie a surprised, enthused look. “Damn, how’d you manage _that?”_ Stephen asks. He smirks, “But also— how is it that you have time to manage other people’s love lives but not your own?”

Kyrie splutters at that, indignant. “Why does everyone keep bringing that up? It has nothing to do with this.”

Nearby, Giannis shakes his head. “No,” he says seriously, “I would like to know as well. Please answer Stephen’s question, Kyrie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES it was a spontaneous decision to add russ/kd to this story and YES i enjoyed it  
> hope you guys liked the chapter and don't forget to comment! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually had this chapter 90% written before that whole conversation under chapter 10, so bear with me... klay/lebron interactions will be in the near future 🙃

Lunch that day is a lively but intimate affair, with the NBA booking private rooms for the players at a nearby restaurant ahead of time. Kyrie and Stephen end up in a room with most of the other All-Stars, sitting around the dining table.

Kyrie almost sits down next to Kevin, only to notice that Russell is already on his other side and they are deep in conversation. He wisely backs away and instead ends up sandwiched between Stephen and Lebron, which is arguably an even worse combination. It’s too late for him to switch seats now, however.

Now— with this mishmash of people in the room, Kyrie fully expects things to get chaotic sooner rather than later. He just hadn’t expected it to be _this_ soon.

They’ve barely even placed their orders when Draymond clears his throat loudly and leans forward in his chair. “So, guys,” he starts, voice booming and easily capturing everybody’s attention. He claps his hands together, looking for all the world like a high-school girl eager to get the freshest scoop of gossip. These Warriors players, man.

“How have y’all’s love lives been? Any updates, anyone?” Draymond asks, and Kyrie internally groans at the question.

“Why don’t you worry about your own first, Draymond?” Jimmy sneers at him instead of answering.

“I don’t got one, that’s why I’m asking,” Draymond replies shamelessly. Well, Kyrie’s got to admire the guy for being self-aware, at least. That is, until Draymond continues speaking. “I mean, not that I don’t _want_ one, of course. To all the point guards in the room: feel free to hit me up any time.”

Kyrie and Stephen roll their eyes at the same time, and he sees Chris Paul do the same on the other side of the table. Kyrie feels his seat jolt a little bit, and looks back to find that Lebron has reached out to put one hand on the back of Kyrie’s chair. He may have done it unconsciously, because he isn’t looking at Kyrie when he turns his head to look at the side of Lebron’s face.

“That’s…oddly specific,” Drummond comments.

Draymond just crosses his arms. “Am I wrong though?” He asks, “name _one_ point guard in the league you wouldn’t smash.”

“Lebron,” Drummond replies almost immediately, and it makes everyone in the room crack up.

“Hey, nothing against you, bro,” Drummond says to Lebron amidst the laughter. “You’re just not my type.”

“No worries, man,” Lebron chuckles, shoulders faintly shaking, “you aren’t really my type either.”

Stephen snickers on the other side of Kyrie. “And what _is_ your type, Lebron?” He asks snarkily.

Kyrie suddenly feels Lebron’s hand land on the nape of his neck. The rough pads of Lebron’s fingers graze against the skin there, close to where his scent glands are located, and Kyrie can’t help but shiver.

“My type….” Lebron says, voice rumbling. “I think my type is pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

His grip tightens marginally on Kyrie’s nape, and Kyrie bites his lip. He risks a glance up at Lebron, but Lebron still isn’t looking in his direction. Rather, he’s staring almost challengingly at the rest of the table, large palm encasing the most vulnerable part of Kyrie’s neck. His intent couldn’t be more clear if he tried.

It’s Draymond that breaks the tension in the room first by snorting loudly. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!” He exclaims, throwing his hands out, “point guards, amirite?”

Kyrie scoffs at that, because it doesn’t exactly feel great to be objectified like this. “Shut up, Draymond,” he says. “No point guards are going to fuck your sorry ass no matter what you say.”

“Hear, hear,” Chris agrees, and Draymond pulls an exaggeratedly wounded face.

“Damn, you don’t got to do me like that,” he complains, though he doesn’t actually look all that bothered.

The conversation continues around the table, but Kyrie is more occupied by the way Lebron leans toward him, hand still hot like a brand on the back of his neck. 

“What about me?” Lebron asks when he’s near enough, voice low so that only the two of them can hear. His exhale hits the shell of Kyrie’s ear.

Kyrie feels himself flush at the sensation, but defiantly turns his head to meet Lebron’s gaze. “What about you?” He parrots back.

One side of Lebron's mouth pulls up as he smirks. “Do _I_ get to fuck any point guards?”

Kyrie huffs out a reluctantly amused breath at that, and tilts his head to one side. “Depends on which one,” he replies, playing along.

“Well,” Lebron hums, as his hand moves down from Kyrie’s neck and smooths along his back. It’s an unnecessarily slow, heated slide that brings Lebron’s palm against the small of Kyrie’s back, and his breath hitches at the feeling. Lebron continues speaking slowly. “I’ve got a real thing for cute omegas who wear the number 11 and have handles that can make me fall on my ass.”

The corners of Kyrie’s lips quirk up. “Hmmm,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek, “I think I might know a guy like that.”

“Yeah?” Lebron leans in even closer, voice low and suggestive. “And what would he let me do to him?”

Kyrie dips his chin to look up at Lebron through his lashes. “That depends,” he says, enjoying the way a muscle jumps in the clench of Lebron’s jaw. “But maybe if you asked _really_ nicely—”

“Hey lovebirds! When are y’all gonna be done eye-fucking?” Stephen jeers at them loudly before Kyrie can finish his sentence, and he jumps a little, turning to face the rest of the table, most of whom are watching him and Lebron.

“Some of us are trying to eat here,” Jimmy chimes in, and Kyrie blushes abruptly when he realizes everybody must have been just watching them flirt. He quickly pulls away from Lebron, who looks mildly dismayed.

“The NBA’s favorite power couple are back at it again, huh?” Draymond remarks.

Before either Kyrie or Lebron can say anything to that, Kevin puts down his fork and shakes his head at Draymond. “Man, that ain’t right,” he says seriously, “the NBA’s favorite power couple is clearly me and Russ.”

Draymond scoffs loudly in response. “Seriously? You two are more like the NBA’s favorite break-up story. I could make a way better case for Klay and Steph.”

Stephen immediately chokes on his spit at the words, cheeks flushing pink as Klay stays rigidly silent next to him. “Wait, wait,” he splutters, “what do _we_ have to do with this? Klay and I aren’t a, a— a couple!”

“Oh come on, Steph,” Kyrie briefly forgets his embarrassment to say. “You have to admit that the whole Splash Bros thing is pretty gay.”

“Says _you,”_ Stephen retorts, face still bright red. “Have you heard the way the media constantly talks about you and Lebron? They make it sound like you two were legit mated and married at one point.”

“Now hold on a second,” Kyle interrupts this time before Kyrie can reply. He lifts one hand in the air, “how can you guys just pretend that Demar and I don’t exist?”

“Kyle, no offense, but that’s weaksauce,” Damian pipes up. “At least CJ and I still play on the same team.”

“So do Steph and I,” Klay says suddenly, the first words that he’s spoken all night, which momentarily shocks everyone into silence. Stephen in particular looks comical, gaping at the side of Klay’s face like a fish out of water.

Jimmy clears his throat uncomfortably. “Alright, why don’t we just call this a…” he pauses, clearly counting off inside his head. “A five-way tie.”

Kyrie sighs. “Can I just forfeit?” He asks dryly, only for Lebron to turn to him sharply.

“What the hell, why are you trying to forfeit? We’re clearly better than all of them!” Lebron insists, oddly passionately.

Kyrie blinks at him, bemused. “You know this isn’t an actual competition, right, ‘King James?’”

Lebron’s mouth is slightly parted the entire time Kyrie is speaking, ready to argue back as soon as he is done, but it snaps shut audibly at the words ‘King James’. Kyrie watches in avid interest as Lebron’s ears flush red impressively; it isn’t often that one gets to see Lebron be visibly flustered.

Lebron opens and shuts his mouth several times. “Hey,” he finally says after a moment, “d-don’t call me that.”

Kyrie smirks a little. Finally _he’s_ the one making Lebron like this, and not the other way around. “Why not?” Kyrie asks, leaning back in his chair. He continues just to be a little shit, “It’s not like I called you Dadd—”

“Jesus,” Jimmy cuts him off just in time, though he also looks a little red in the face. “You two really need to keep the foreplay to yourselves.”

“Dude,” Draymond crosses his arms, “why’d you have to go and do that? I wanted to see where that was going.”

Kyrie grins sheepishly. Lebron is still frozen next to him and looks like his brain is busy rebooting. “Sorry, sorry,” Kyrie says, “we’re done now, I promise. Actually, while we’re on the topic— Jimmy, I’m kind of curious ‘cause I never hear you talk about this kind of stuff. Is there anybody _you’re_ interested in?”

Fortunately and rather predictably, the others at the table immediately pounce on that, effectively letting Kyrie and Lebron off the hook for the time being. Kyrie feels a bit bad as he watches Stephen begin interrogating Jimmy, but it’s a necessary evil.

He settles back in his seat and turns in Lebron’s direction. Lebron is already looking at him, and looks slightly caught off guard when their eyes meet.

Lebron’s face is still slightly pink from earlier, and— Christ, Kyrie should _not_ be finding a 6’9” 250-pound fully-grown alpha cute, but by God he just does.

He can’t help but smile at him. After a second, Lebron smiles back, fond, and everything else fades into background noise, at least for just that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to comment! everybody is welcome to come scream into the void with me :-)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just some wholesome bonding for yall! i had lots of fun writing this chapter too and i hope u guys enjoy

The three-point contest and dunk contest are exciting crowd-thrillers as always, a prelude to the actual All-Star game that will happen tomorrow night. Stephen is still running a bit high on adrenaline when they get back to the hotel that night, and ends up sprawled next to Kyrie in his hotel room, just shooting the shit together and chilling.

It’s only the two of them this time, and the atmosphere is open and relaxed in a way that it can’t ever be when there are alphas present. Stephen suddenly realizes that him and Kyrie haven’t really spent quality time alone in a while.

It’s weird to think about now, but there had been a point in time in their relationship when there was always an underlying tension in their interactions. And by that he means sexual and romantic tension. Of course, nothing had ever come of it, with the timing never being quite right and the two of them playing on opposite sides of the country.

Stephen stares at the side of Kyrie’s face, who is busy rambling about some musical he recently saw. “Hey,” Stephen cuts him off, waiting for Kyrie to stop talking and turn to him to continue. “Do you remember when we were, like, lowkey into each other?”

Kyrie looks momentarily caught off guard by the change of topic, before his expression quickly morphs into one of confusion. “Dude, why are you suddenly bringing that up? I haven’t thought about that whole thing in at least three years.”

“I don’t know,” Stephen says. “I was just thinking… we’ve both come so far since then.”

Kyrie looks thoughtful. “I guess we have,” he replies. “Well, except somehow you’re _still_ in denial about your thing with Klay.”

Stephen feels his face flush at the mere mention of Klay, and scoffs loudly to cover up how flustered he feels. “You were literally also in denial until _this_ _morning_ ,” he points out.

Kyrie wrinkles his nose. “Whatever,” he says, which is a pretty weak retort so Stephen takes it as a win. Kyrie’s brow furrows pensively, as he seems to be mulling over something, and Stephen waits patiently for him to keep talkig.

“Now that I’m thinking about it…” he says after a second, frowning, “how come nothing ever happened between us?”

Stephen hums, rolling onto his back again. “Timing,” he suggests, before making a thoughtful noise. “Also, you know how we first started talking in the middle of those Cavs/Warriors runs?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly want to further incur Lebron’s wrath by stealing you right in front of him.” Stephen says dryly.

Kyrie sits up quickly at that, the mattress bouncing slightly underneath them from the action. He looks at Stephen incredulously, “Wait, what? I’m pretty sure Lebron wasn’t into me back then.”

Stephen snorts loudly in response. He reaches up and pats Kyrie pityingly on the side of the face. “Oh baby boy, you is _blind.”_

Kyrie slaps Stephen’s hand away with a huff. “Shut up,” he says, “I know I can be kind of dense sometimes, but I’m not _that_ dense. Besides, if Lebron liked me back then, then I wouldn’t have—”

He abruptly stops speaking, which makes Stephen sit up as well curiously. “You wouldn’t have what?” He asks.

Kyrie smacks his lips together. “I wouldn’t have been interested in _you_ at all.”

Stephen’s immediate reaction is to gasp dramatically. “What!?” He demands, only kind of offended, but he plays it up and presses a hand to his chest with emotion. “Are you saying that I’m less likeable than Lebron?”

“No—” Kyrie starts, but then abruptly changes his mind. “ _Actually_ , yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replies snidely, crossing his arms. “Plus, you got _way_ too many people up in your harem, bro. I’m not looking to be a competitor on The Bachelorette or some shit.”

Stephen rolls his eyes at the unbelievable hypocrisy of that statement. “Are you kidding me? There are so many things wrong with what you just said.”

Kyrie juts his chin out. “Like what?” He asks.

“Okay, first of all,” Stephen clears his throat and holds up a finger. “You yourself have had a pretty sizeable lineup of guys fighting for your affections— amongst which the most notable are Lebron, Kevin, Paul, and Jimmy, with an honorable mention to Tatum. Second of all, liking Lebron does _not_ mean that you have to deal with less competition because let me tell you, omegas are all over that guy for God knows what reason. And last but not least, _I_ have a very respectable relationship history, nothing close to this so-called ‘harem’ that you mentioned.”

He ends his speech with a sniff, pleased at his own conciseness. Stephen leans back onto his hands smugly as he watches Kyrie process everything.

“Let me rebut your points one by one,” Kyrie starts slowly after a moment, and Stephen makes a face at him, daring him to try. Kyrie just tsks and continues speaking. “Right, so Kevin was purely a friends with benefits situation, Paul was a one-night stand, Jimmy is ancient history and we’re great friends now, and Jayson was just a one-sided puppy love. Nobody was ‘fighting for my affections,’ as you so dramatically put.”

He pauses to take a breath, looking contemplative. “Although, you might be right about the Lebron part. He _is…_ pretty…popular with omegas.” A frown appears on Kyrie’s face, almost subconsciously

Stephen snickers. He is so transparent. “Jealous?”

Kyrie’s frown deepens further, displeased, but he doesn’t deny it. “Wait,” he says, “is _that_ why so many omegas in the league hate me? Because…Lebron—?”

“Probably,” Stephen replies. That does sound pretty plausible. There’s never a shortage of omegas and betas (and a couple alphas) in the league trying to climb into Lebron’s bed. Lebron is just _that_ kind of alpha, although Stephen doesn’t exactly see the appeal himself. He’s more into less attention-grabbing, understated guys. Anyways— nobody in the league is _enemies_ over this type of thing, per se, but jealousy can be a powerful and ugly emotion.

Stephen nods to himself, before something suddenly occurs to him. Something important. “Hold on,” he says. “ _I_ don’t have anything going on with Lebron. Why do they also hate _me_?”

It’s an alarming thought that makes a sudden wave of self-doubt and insecurity wash over him. Do people just…not like him as a person? Stephen can’t help but overthink these things sometimes, but Kyrie reaches out and grabs his hand before he can start down a rabbit hole of negative thoughts.

“Don’t mind them, Steph,” he says seriously, looking into Stephen’s eyes. “They only hate you because they can’t be you.”

Stephen’s brows pinch together. “You really think so?” He asks.

Kyrie squeezes his hand. “I _know_ so,” he says firmly, and Stephen can tell that he really means it.

The corners of Stephen’s lips twitch slightly upward, as if he can’t help but be influenced by Kyrie’s unwavering confidence in him. Some strong, unnameable emotion wells up deep inside Stephen’s chest. “Ky, have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate you?” He blurts out.

Kyrie blinks dumbly at him, before huffing out a low laugh. “No, you should definitely do it more often,” he replies playfully. The corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly as he smiles, sweet as honey. “I love you too, _Wardell_. You know you can always come talk to me about these kinds of things.”

Stephen leans forward instead of responding verbally, wrapping his arms tightly around Kyrie in a hug. Kyrie’s arms come up a second later to settle on Stephen’s back as well, as they both settle into the embrace. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last either, Stephen thanks his lucky stars that he has such an amazing friend as Kyrie next to him.

*

Lebron and Klay stand awkwardly next to each other in front of the vending machine.

An uncomfortable silence stretches out between them like a rubber band. Clearly, neither of them had expected anyone else to be out here also trying to get a drink in the middle of the night. They both have their arms crossed in a classic alpha posturing gesture, until they realize this at the same time and hastily drop their arms down to their sides.

After a moment of deliberation, Lebron decides to take one for the team and break the ice. He clears his throat. “How’s it going, man?” He asks stiffly.

Klay startles a little at the sudden inquisition. He turns to Lebron, looking equally as discomfited. “Uhmm,” he says, “it’s going alright, dude. What about you?”

“Same,” Lebron replies, “I’m doing a-ok.”

Klay nods. “Good, good,” he says, and they immediately fall into another bout of awkward silence.

Lebron resists the urge to wipe his palms against his sweatpants, because he’s Lebron James— he’s more dignified than that. He pretends to study the vending machine closely instead, but he can’t focus on the admittedly limited drink options. He doesn’t know why neither of them have just walked away and put them out of their shared misery already.

“Hey,” Klay suddenly says, which is surprising for many different reasons, and Lebron looks over at him, only to find Klay also staring at the vending machine intently instead of looking at him. Alright, so they’re going to go that route. That’s totally okay with Lebron. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief and turns back to the vending machine himself.

“So, uh,” Klay says to a can of Coke in the second row. “How are you and Kyrie doing?”

The content of the question shocks Lebron even further, but he quickly recovers and coughs. “Me and Kyrie,” he repeats slowly, mind whirling. “We’re… alright.” He pauses. “Why do you ask?”

Klay’s foot taps out an erratic rhythm against the floor. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, “well,” he says. “I just, uh. I was wondering… are you two. Are you two making any progress?”

Lebron gives up the pretense this time and turns sharply to look at the side of Klay’s face, who is looking at a point past Lebron’s shoulder somewhat sheepishly. “Wait,” Lebron says incredulously, “Are you trying to ask me for advice right now?”

Klay stays incriminatingly silent, as Lebron balks at him. “Okay,” Klay says after a moment, finally looking directly at Lebron. “I wouldn’t call it _asking_ for _advice,_ exactly. I was just…curious. About your approach.”

“My approach,” Lebron says, squinting. This has got to be one of the most bizarre experiences he has ever had in all his years in the league. “I don’t know. I just try to be as honest and straightforward as I can, I guess.” He scratches at his beard awkwardly. Now that he’s thinking about it, does he even _have_ an approach? All of his interactions with Kyrie over the past couple of days seem to just consist of Lebron being blunt as hell and letting the more primal, alpha part of his brain take control of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Klay is nodding along to Lebron’s words in consideration. “Honest and straightforward,” he murmurs, almost like they’re foreign concepts to him.

“Er,” Lebron continues, partly just to make conversation and partly because he’s actually curious, “you having trouble with Steph?”

That snaps Klay out of his reverie immediately, and he looks at Lebron like a deer caught in the headlights. “I—” he starts, before he seems to think better of it and deflates a little instead. “Well— yeah. Kind of.”

“That sucks, man,” Lebron says sympathetically.

Klay sighs. “I just can’t get a read on him,” he says, which Lebron privately finds incredibly ironic, but he doesn’t say anything and Klay continues. “I mean, sometimes I feel like he’s just waiting for me to make a move, but then five minutes later he hooks up with somebody else. I don’t know what he really wants.”

Lebron reaches out and puts a hand on Klay’s shoulder, which makes Klay look at him in mild startlement. “Dude, I get that,” Lebron says, genuinely meaning it because Kyrie has done the _exact same thing_ a thousand times _._ A source of frustration, for sure, but it also makes Lebron’s alpha instincts perk up in a not entirely bad way.

A wordless feeling of deep understanding passes between them as they make eye contact; this is probably the most Lebron has connected with Klay in the entire time they’ve known each other.

He squeezes Klay’s shoulder one more time before retracting his hand. “Mixed signals are a real bitch, huh,” Lebron says, to which Klay grumbles an agreement. An idea suddenly occurs to Lebron. “You know, uh,” he says, a touch hesitant. “I could…ask Kyrie about it for you. Him and Steph are, well. Weirdly close.”

“ _That_ they are,” Klay responds dryly, and he looks pleasantly surprised by the offer. “And wow, thanks, that would be great. I feel kind of bad for getting you involved in this, though.”

Lebron smiles amicably. “Nah, man,” he replies, “us alphas gotta have each other’s backs, too. Especially since our omegas are devious little menaces who always seem to be up to something.”

Klay shakes his head at the last part, “you got that right,” he says. He smirks. “And ‘our omegas’, huh? I like the sound of that.”

Lebron smirks too, and turns back toward the vending machine to get two cans of soda. He bends down to retrieve them, and then hands one to Klay, cracking the other one open with his thumb and lifting it in a toast.

“Here’s to good luck to the both of us,” Lebron says.

Klay lifts his drink as well, and their cans clink together crisply, loud in the otherwise quiet hallway. “Cheers to that, man,” he replies, and they both take a long drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the vending machine lowkey the mvp of this story lmao
> 
> also i really want to add harden to this fic somehow, but i'm trying to think of how 🤔🤔. anyways if you liked that then leave a comment! if you have any suggestions then leave a comment! whatever you do leave a comment! ;D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more slice of life/MINor plot development lol hope u guys like it

Kyrie goes on his daily morning jog at a nearby park the next day, bright and early. The weather is nice for the tail-end of February, the air fresh and cool, a bit of sun peeking out from between the rolling clouds.

Jimmy is with him, because he was the only person who said ‘yes’ last night when Kyrie invited a bunch of the guys in the locker room to join him. They jog a decent distance around the lake at the center of the park, before coming to a stop next to a large tree.

Kyrie collapses onto the grass underneath the shade, catching his breath. Jimmy does a few simple stretches before sitting down next to him. He lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his face, and Kyrie catches a glimpse of his clenching abs.

Kyrie lifts himself up onto his elbows. He eyes Jimmy’s six-pack consideringly; “Been hitting the gym lately?” He asks after a moment, raising an impressed eyebrow.

Jimmy releases his shirt, which unfortunately falls down to cover his torso again. He looks at Kyrie, mildly amused. “See something you like?” He smirks half-jokingly. 

“Nahhhh,” Kyrie replies, wrinkling his nose. He waves a hand in the air. “It’s a nice view, not gonna lie— but I’m not making _that_ mistake again.”

That makes Jimmy gasp in mock outrage. “Are you calling our past relationship a mistake!?”

Kyrie snorts and drops back down onto the grass, folding his hands underneath his head. “Are you saying it _wasn’t?”_ He counters.

Jimmy shifts next to him. “We had our moments,” he replies, though he doesn’t disagree.

A cool breeze rustles through the leaves overhead, making a few flutter to the ground serenely. Kyrie blows out a breath, and thinks to those few disastrous, but certainly fun months when he and Jimmy had given it a shot together all those years ago. “I guess we just weren’t right for each other, huh?” He muses.

Jimmy clicks his tongue. “Guess not,” he replies, before he moves forward to lean over Kyrie and give him a big grin. “But maybe that was for the best, since you have Lebron now and everything.”

Kyrie tries his hardest not to, but he still blushes at the words. “I don’t have anybody yet,” he refutes halfheartedly. He sits up suddenly without warning, and the only reason he doesn’t end up aggressively slamming his forehead against Jimmy’s is because Jimmy moves out of the way just in time.

“But you know, I feel kind of bad, Jim,” Kyrie continues loudly. “Have _you_ found anybody else yet?”

Jimmy narrows his eyes at him, and Kyrie just keeps looking at him expectantly. After a moment, Jimmy shrugs. “Eh,” he says noncommittally. “I haven’t dated anybody seriously since Derrick.”

Kyrie frowns. “ _Derrick_?” He asks, incredulous. “That was forever ago!”

Jimmy hums, looking at the sky. “Well,” he starts absentmindedly, “I guess there was also—” He stops, abruptly cutting himself off, as if he just now realizes what he’s saying. “Wait, actually never mind,” he corrects hurriedly, “there was noth—”

“Finish that goddamn sentence or I swear to God, Butler,” Kyrie says, spine straightening and focus zeroing in. Finally, some good fucking food.

Jimmy’s eyes dart around for a second before they meet Kyrie’s. “Uhhhhh,” he says, and Kyrie waits. “It’s just…” Jimmy scratches at the back of his head, “Joel and I used to mess around a little back when I was in Philly. But that doesn’t count, ‘cause we never put a label on it!”

Kyrie looks at him, genuinely surprised. “Wow,” he says, blinking. “You and Joel?”

Jimmy sighs. “Yeah,” he says, tone indecipherable.

Kyrie bobs his head slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of the two of them together. Alpha/alpha couples are always somewhat ambiguous, and Kyrie has a hard time imagining the dynamic between them in that kind of context. Especially considering their personalities, so different off the court. 

“I have so many questions,” Kyrie says after a moment. “Well, first of all— who tops and who bottoms?”

Jimmy immediately chokes on his own spit.

He begins coughing violently, and Kyrie thumps him on the back helpfully as he watches him try to catch his breath. “What the fuck,” Jimmy says when he’s finally recovered, face red. “I ain’t talkin’ about this shit with you, man.”

“Aww,” Kyrie pouts, “come on, Jim. That’s basically like admitting you’re the bottom. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I mean— look who you’re talking to.” He grins encouragingly.

Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, though the corners of his mouth are also upturned in reluctant amusement. “I am _not_ the bottom,” he replies, before holding a hand up. “You know what, nothing against you, Ky. I just don’t think an omega can understand how these things work between two alphas.”

Kyrie considers this, and shrugs after a second. “Okay, that’s fair,” he acquiesces. He continues, “But if you ever wanna, like, just talk about your emotions and stuff, I’m here, alright?”

Jimmy quirks a smile at that. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, “thanks, asshole.” He holds out a fist, and Kyrie bumps it with his own.

The breeze starts to pick up a little, so they get up, brush the grass off their joggers, and start back towards the hotel. They’re laughing loudly about something or the other as they head for the dining hall; hanging with Jimmy is always fun in that way.

Kyrie is wiping a tear from his eye as they enter the room together, where breakfast is already in full swing. “Oh my God,” he says, “you should’ve _seen_ your face.”

Jimmy mock-scowls, and reaches out to pinch Kyrie’s nose. “Shut it, Irving,” he says, “your reaction wasn’t even that much better than mine.”

“But it still _was_ better,” Kyrie replies, batting Jimmy’s hand away and grinning. They come to a stop in front of a table and Kyrie looks up, finding a number of other players sitting and eating. “Morning, guys,” he greets them cheerfully, endorphins still running high from the exercise.

“Morning,” Kevin echoes back as Kyrie and Jimmy drop into the nearest empty seats. He tilts his head at Jimmy, “Damn,” he says, “you actually went with Ky on one of his runs?”

Jimmy blinks. “Yeah,” he says, “is there something wrong with it?”

“Look,” Kevin starts, stuffing a forkful of omelet in his mouth. “I like working out as much as the next guy, but he always insists on getting up _insanely_ early and meditating and all that stuff.”

Kyrie narrows his eyes. “Hey, I’m not that bad,” he protests. “Besides, do you even know who you’re talking to? Jimmy is way worse than me. We met in the lobby at 5:30 and he _still_ complained about it being a late start.”

Jimmy crosses his arms. “You guys know me,” he says haughtily. “I believe in grit and pure-minded intensity. Hard work is the biggest virtue that a person can have in life, and that’s the mindset I bring to every single—”

“Alright, save it,” Kyrie cuts him off, waving a hand in front of his face. “We’ve all heard this spiel before.”

Jimmy huffs, but he doesn’t try to continue. “Whatever,” he says, standing up again. “I’m going to get some food. Want anything?”

“Can you get me some cereal? Thanks.” Kyrie says, and Jimmy makes an ‘OK’ gesture and leaves off towards the buffet.

“Man,” Dame says after Jimmy’s walked away. “How are you two still such good friends even after you broke up?”

Kyrie taps his fingers against the tabletop thoughtfully. “Well… I think it’s because we were never that serious about each other,” he explains, taking a swig from his water bottle.

“So you’re saying that two people can’t be friends if they were in a serious relationship at one point?” Kevin asks, sounding somewhat skeptical.

Kyrie just raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you and Russ friends?” He asks back in lieu of an answer, which immediately makes Kevin’s mouth snap shut.

“…point.” Kevin mutters after a second, and Kyrie leans back smugly.

“Speaking of,” Stephen pipes up, swallowing a mouthful of orange juice. He wipes at his mouth with a napkin. “How _are_ you and Russ right now?”

Kevin looks at him in mild suspicion. “We’re….fine,” he says conservatively, “why are you asking?”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, Kev,” he responds, “we all saw you two talking it up during the dunk contest last night. Looked aaaawfully cozy to me.”

“Nah, man,” Kevin says, shaking his head, but the tips of his ears are red. “We’re takin’ it slow. Nothing’s for sure, yet.”

Kyrie pumps his fist half in the air. “We’re all rooting for you, buddy!” He says brightly, which makes Kevin cast an unimpressed look in his direction.

There’s a brief lull in the conversation after that, as Jimmy returns with a plate stacked full of eggs, sausages, and toast, and a bowl of cereal for Kyrie. “Thanks, Jimmy,” Kyrie murmurs, and digs into his Wheaties.

He lets the hum of conversation around the table wash over him, focusing on his breakfast for the time being. Halfway through his cereal, however, he realizes that he forgot to tell Jimmy to get some fruit. Kyrie swallows his latest mouthful and stands up to go get it himself.

The fruit bar isn’t that far away from the table, and Kyrie takes his time perusing the surprisingly wide variety of options. He’s humming a little underneath his breath as he reaches for the watermelon slices, when another hand reaches out for it as well at the exact same time.

Both of them immediately stop moving upon realizing that there’s someone else, and Kyrie looks up apologetically. “Sorry, you g—”

He starts to say, but then abruptly cuts himself off when he finds himself looking (way up) at one Lebron James. Kyrie blinks at him. “Oh,” he says, “it’s you.”

Lebron also looks surprised to see him for a moment, before his eye twitches at Kyrie’s flat statement. “Why do you sound so disappointed?” He asks dryly.

Kyrie makes a guileless expression. “No, no, I just wasn’t expecting to see you,” he replies honestly. “Like I was saying, you can go first.” He gestures to the tray in front of them.

“Right, thanks,” Lebron says, resuming his movements. They lapse into a short silence as they take turns piling watermelon onto their respective plates, until Lebron speaks up again. “Uh, well, this is actually pretty convenient because— there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Kyrie looks back up at him curiously. “Right now?” He asks.

“If that’s okay with you, yeah,” Lebron says.

“Huh,” Kyrie ponders it for a moment, before he shrugs. “Well, sure. I was already sitting down, wanna head back to the table with me?” He jerks a thumb toward where Kevin, Stephen, Jimmy, and a couple others are sitting.

Lebron turns his head in the direction that Kyrie is pointing, and then winces at something he sees. He looks back at Kyrie somewhat sheepishly, “Actually, can we talk in private?”

That makes Kyrie even more curious what it’s about so he agrees easily, and they quickly find a random empty table and sit down across from each other. It feels like déjà vu, Kyrie reminded of the conversation he and Lebron had shared over breakfast two days ago. Right after he hooked up with Paul. Just the memory of Lebron’s piercing gaze that morning makes his face heat up.

The present-day Lebron in front of him clears his throat, making Kyrie’s attention snap back to him.

“Ahem, so,” Lebron says. “I wanted to ask you about Klay and Steph.”

Kyrie blinks at the unexpected topic. “Klay and Steph? What about them?” He asks, spearing a piece of melon with his fork.

“Well,” Lebron starts, “I was talking to Klay last night—”

“Wait, you were talking to who?” Kyrie can’t help but interrupt, just to make sure he had heard correctly.

“Klay,” Lebron repeats, and Kyrie’s eyebrows jump incredulously. Since when have those two ever… _talked?_ His incredulity must show on his face, because Lebron explains, “We just happened to run into each other in the hallway. But that’s not what’s important,” he waves a hand in the air and leans forward a little.

“What’s important is,” he continues, “do you know what’s going on between the two of them?”

Kyrie juts his lower lip out, considering the question. “I mean,” he says after a moment, “I’m pretty sure they’re in love with each other… ?”

Lebron’s eyes light up. “So Steph wants Klay to make a move, right? He would say yes?”

“I— yeah, probably, I think,” Kyrie replies, still slightly bewildered by the whole conversation as well as its implications. “Wait, what did Klay say to you?”

“He was just talking about how he’s confused by Steph’s mixed signals,” Lebron says, taking a sip of coffee from his cup. 

“Ah,” Kyrie nods slowly, thinking back on Stephen’s recent behavior. “Yeah, I can see that. Steph can be kind of a tsundere sometimes.”

Lebron looks amused at the description, but he doesn’t stray off topic. “So all Klay has to do is confess his feelings, right?” He asks.

Kyrie hums thoughtfully, trying to imagine how Stephen would react to something like that. He would probably blush to high heavens, all stuttering and awkward and shocked despite all the glaring neon signs pointing to this happening. But ultimately, Kyrie can’t picture him saying anything other than ‘yes’, even if it takes a fair amount of fumbling to get there.

Kyrie cracks a small smile at the thought. “Yeah, I think so,” he replies. “Klay’s gotta be, like, mega straightforward with it, though.”

Lebron nods, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Kyrie makes a small noise of agreement at the back of his throat as he stuffs another piece of fruit in his mouth. There’s a brief moment of silence as he chews and swallows, before he leans forward again. “By the way,” he says, intrigued, “when did you and Klay get so close?”

Lebron chuckles awkwardly. “Well, I wouldn’t call us _close_ , exactly,” he says. “We just…realized that we have something important in common.”

Kyrie tilts his head, even more curious now. “Something important in common,” he repeats, “and what’s th—”

“Well, well, well,” a loud voice cuts him off from behind before he can get the rest of the question out. Kyrie turns, only to find Jimmy, Stephen, and a couple of other guys he had been sitting with earlier, presumably done with breakfast and on their way out of the dining area.

“We were wondering why you never came back,” Jimmy says, eyeing Kyrie and Lebron with exaggerated disdain. “I guess _this_ is why, huh?”

Stephen sniffs next to him. He crosses his arms, “Wow, what happened to ‘bros before hoes’, Irving?”

Kyrie’s immediate reaction is to roll his eyes at both of their penchant for dramatics. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, raising a hand in the signal for ‘my bad’. “I was just needed elsewhere for a sec.”

Stephen snorts. “Yeah, I bet you were,” he says, and Kyrie makes a face at him.

“Nah, it was my bad,” Lebron speaks up, amused. “I made Kyrie come over here with me.”

Stephen harumphs, even more snootily than last time. “Yeah, I bet you did,” he repeats in the exact same tone, which is equal parts funny and annoying, and Kyrie sighs.

Damn, this is the thanks he gets for being an amazing (secret) wingman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure if the end there was too abrupt? But anyways hopefully starting from now on the main pairings will be getting some meaningful development(!!!!)
> 
> lmk what you think in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> comment/kudos/suggestions are all welcome!


End file.
